


Love's Labour's Won

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canada, Bobby is an advocate for therapy, Dean/Cas Big Bang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Dyslexic Dean, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, LARPing, Labor Unions, M/M, Minor Mental Health Issues (Mary has depression), Pining, Sam's a bit of a dick in this one - sorry, Sharing a Bed (well - a sleeping bag)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-20 19:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: It’s been five years since the workplace accident that killed Dean Winchester’s father, and conditions at Roman Mills have not gotten any safer. When Dean confides in his friend Charlie, she introduces him to Cas Novak, a union organizer passionate about workers’ rights.As they work together on the union drive, Dean and Cas bond over good food, trashy TV, Castiel’s introduction to LARPing, and their shared commitment to improving the lives of the workers at the sawmill. Cas, however, is all too conscious of the power imbalance between them.And then there's Roman Enterprises, determined to stop them from forming a union, even if it means breaking the law, with devastating consequences for Dean and Cas’s nascent romance.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang 2018. This is my first time completing a DCBB, and I couldn't be more thrilled. Make sure you check out the [Art Masterpost](http://goodquestionharlie.tumblr.com/post/178938715108/title-loves-labours-won-author) and leave some love for the wonderful [GoodQuestionHarlie](http://goodquestionharlie.tumblr.com/) . The gorgeous art is also be embedded in the story.
> 
> This was very much a labour of love (pun intended). I do, in fact, work for a labour union, as well as being a union member, and I feel really strongly about their role in protecting workers' rights. That said, I do not work in organizing, nor am I a labour lawyer, so please forgive any inaccuracies. 
> 
> **A disclaimer:** To the best of my knowledge, Canadian Northern Miners United/CNMU is not a real union and is not intended to represent any one union in particular. Similarly, to the best of my knowledge, Lawrence, Ontario, is not a real town and Roman Mills/Roman Enterprises is not a real company. At one point, for the sake of the story, I imply that the workers of Laurentian University belong to CNMU. Laurentian is in fact a real university, and several different union represent the workers there, so my apologies to the real workers and the real unions of Laurentian.
> 
> Many thanks to Muse and Jojo for all their hard work running the challenge. Thank you to [superhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney) for suggesting the title, and thank you to [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses) and [sternchencas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternchencas/pseuds/sternchencas) for their valuable feedback and encouragement, and to [thesupplanter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesupplanter/pseuds/thesupplanter) for helping with the LARPing scenes. Thanks also to [wetkitchenpaint](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wetkitchenpaint/pseuds/wetkitchenpaint) for beta reading. I want to thank [elizabethrobertajones](https://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com) for letting me use her middle name for Sam (and for inspiring my characterisation of Mary with her excellent meta). Finally, thank you to my husband [fictoryismine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictoryismine/pseuds/fictoryismine) for letting me bounce ideas off him, his endless encouragement, and his patience in letting me read the entire thing to him out loud.

**July 2013**

“I can’t believe those assholes are trying to raid us!”

Grumbling breaks out amongst the ranks of the Followers of the Moon. It’s the second day of their quarterly LARPing meet, and they’ve just caught word that the Shadow Orcs are planning to infiltrate their camp to steal their weapons, and more importantly, their booze.

“Hey, hey!” Dean holds up a hand, calling for attention. “The key word is _trying._ Don’t think for a second we won’t whoop their creepy asses. No way those shadow dorks are getting into our mead.” He spies Charlie through the bemused crowd, resplendent in her royal armour, and backs down, sheepish. “Uh, isn’t that right, your Highness?”

Charlie’s eyes are laughing at him, but she declares, “What my handmaiden just said, only more eloquent. Now let’s go kick some shadowy behind!” She lifts her sword in the air, and her assembled army cheers, before turning out into the battle formation they had already planned. She finds Dean in the crowd and bumps him with her hip. “Great speech,” she sparkles up at him.

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbles, hugging her one-armed about the shoulders, before releasing her so they can charge into battle.

Later, after they clean up, they gather around the bonfire. Everyone’s still in costume and gnawing down on turkey legs, but no one’s bothering to keep the chatter in character.

“So how’s life in the land of Dean Winchester? What’s new?” Charlie asks, tucking herself in against his side. She’s his best friend, but they rarely get to see each other in person, except at these meets. While they keep in touch online as much as possible, Charlie’s been swamped with some big work project, and they haven’t had time to catch up lately.

“Not much to tell.” Dean shrugs. “Just work and crappy TV.”

“Well, how’s work going?”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. To be honest, he’s been trying hard not to think about work. “Not good,” he admits. “This kid, Kevin, nearly lost his finger the other day.” Christ, there’d been so much blood.

Kevin’s a good kid, only there for the summer, making money for college. He’s some kind of genius, apparently, not that that had mattered when Dean had to call his mother from her station to take him to the hospital. And it could have gone so much worse.

“Honestly, the whole place is an accident waiting to happen. Again.”

Charlie hums sympathetically. She knows all about his dad, of course, but he rarely talks about the other stuff to anyone. The hazards, the small injuries, the emails to HR that go ignored. Last year the company had tried to set up an incentive system for workers who attended safety presentations, but when Dean had pointed out that the older equipment needed replacing before it hurt someone, he’d been told in no uncertain terms that it was too expensive and that the workers would just have to be more cautious – without slowing down productivity, of course.

What’s the point of talking about it, he usually figures. He hates it, but it’s just how businesses are run. Workers are expendable.

It all comes pouring out now, fueled by the sick feeling he’d had when Kevin had screamed, his hand caught in the equipment, and the guilt he feels at not being able to prevent it. Dean’s recently been promoted to lead hand for his department – possibly as a bribe to shut him up – and he takes the safety of his people seriously.

Charlie listens with a crease in her forehead. When he finishes, she licks her lips and asks, “You remember what I do for a living, right?”

Dean thinks about it. The downside of a mostly-online friendship is that no matter how close you are, sometimes the real-life details slip through the cracks. “Uh, you do computer stuff for some kind of mining company, don’t you?”

Charlie giggles. “Nah, that’s just the name. Canadian Northern Miners United. We represent all kinds of industries, actually.” When Dean fails to catch on, she adds, “It’s a union, and it really sounds like you could use one. Want our help?”

He stops, considers. A union had never occurred to him before, but now that it has…

“What kind of help are we talking?”

*********

**August 2013**

“I can’t believe those assholes are trying to raid us!” [1] Grumbling breaks out amongst the knot of Castiel Novak’s colleagues to his right.

At the nearest table, Missouri Mosely and Lee Chambers are discussing the upcoming round of bargaining at a northern silver mine, and Jody Mills and Asa Fox in the Education department seem to be making plans to update the basic Stewards course. Technically the annual CNMU staff meeting is over and this get-together is just for socializing with their further-flung co-workers, but they’re all here because they’re passionate about the labour movement, and the conversation naturally flows back to their work.

Castiel leans against a wall next to a potted plant and out of the way, letting the chatter wash over him without joining in. It’s not that he’s unhappy to see the people he works with, but these meetings can be draining, especially when the presentations necessarily address the grim state of workers’ rights around the world. He knows they make a difference, but the reminder that they can’t fix everything is frustrating. If only–

He’s startled out of his thoughts when, in a sudden flash of red hair, Charlie squeezes up next to him. “Hey, Cas!” She beams up at him. “What are you doing over here all by your lonesome?”

“Oh, you know.” He quirks a tiny smile in her direction. “My people skills are rusty.”

“Pfft. Sure, your people skills are rusty. Which is why you’re our top organizer.”

Castiel slides his gaze away, embarrassed. “I’d hardly say that.”

She grins. “Numbers don’t lie, man. But nevermind. What’ve you been up to lately? I’ve barely seen you all summer. Give me the hot gossip. How’s your garden?”

He mentally rolls his eyes at himself. What does it say about him that _his garden_ is the extent of his ‘hot gossip’? “It’s doing well. I’ve been running a drive up near Timmins, which is why I haven’t been in the office much lately. But we go to vote next week, so you’ll be seeing more of me after that. I should have enough cauliflower and green beans to bring some in to share.”

“Good.” She nudges him with her elbow. “Not that I won’t appreciate your shining face, too, but you know I’m really angling for those fresh veggies.”

Castiel chuckles. “Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to get anything I harvest. How was your LARPing weekend?” Charlie’s nerdiness is no secret around the office.

It’s the right question to ask. Charlie practically bounces on her toes as she exclaims, “Oh man, it was epic! I’m so going to drag you with me one of these days.”

He can’t help but smile. “I’d enjoy that.”

She launches into an enthusiastic account of the latest escapades of the Followers of the Moon, and Cas listens attentively. Charlie’s invited him to come with her more than once, but the timing’s never worked out; he always seems to be on the road for work. He wants to give it a try, though. It would be nice to take up a less solitary hobby than those he is used to – when he has free time, he usually spends it gardening, reading, or watching bad TV.

Charlie carries on her story. “So then we find out the Shadow Orcs have taken one of our people prisoner, and I go out with one of our knights to rescue him – a good Queen doesn’t just direct the battle from her tent like some World War I general. The plan was to ambush them, but our guy was a turncoat, and next thing I know, we’re tied up and being interrogated.” She wrinkles her nose. “Not gonna lie, ambushes are our weak spot. We can capture a scouting party, but then another one will swoop in and overwhelm us while we’re containing the first, and we’re too spread out to get them all at once.”

“What if you–” Cas lays out a strategy suggestion, and Charlie’s face lights up with glee.

“Dude, that’s perfect! Are you sure you’ve never LARPed before? Because that settles it. I’m definitely bringing you with me next time. Between you and Dean, our strategy would be unbeatable.”

Cas nods agreeably. Charlie’s friend Dean features frequently in the recounting of her various adventures, and without ever having met the man, he gathers that he’s intelligent, funny and caring.

“Which reminds me.” She snaps her fingers. “I think I’ve got a new organizing target for you. Roman Mills, in Lawrence. Dean works there, and the way he tells it, it’s a health and safety nightmare. He’s been doing what he can on his own, but it sounds like they could use some help. I’m going to put you in touch with him.”

Cas considers this. “Is that Roman Mills as in Richard Roman Enterprises?”

“Yep.” She pops the P.

That puts a bit of a wrench in things. The founder and CEO of Roman Enterprises, Dick Roman, is openly and occasionally viciously anti-union, and the company has money to burn. They won’t take kindly to an organizing drive. Nevertheless, Cas has already started planning out a campaign in his head. From the sounds of things, Roman’s employees need a voice, and he’s going to help them find it.

He pulls out his phone to take notes. “Tell me what you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Raiding, in union terms, is when one union attempts to get the members of another union to leave that union and join them instead. It is against the rules of the Canadian Labour Congress for its affiliated unions to raid other affiliates.  [ return to text ]


	2. Chapter One

Lawrence, Ontario, is not quite a company town, but it might as well be. For years, McLeod Mills had been the backbone of the community, providing most of the jobs in the town. While occasionally demanding and difficult to work for, the McLeod family were local fixtures and had a vested interest in not being run off by disgruntled workers. Not so, Roman Enterprises, who had bought out the sawmill about seven years ago, renamed it, and set about making changes to increase ‘efficiency,’ and more importantly, profits.

Five years ago, there was an accident.

That’s how the company had referred to it. “An unfortunate accident.” “Unforeseen.” “Deeply sorry for your loss.” One man, Bobby Singer, had lost the use of his legs. John Winchester had lost his life.

Despite records of complaints from Roman employees about safety hazards and company negligence, the accident, like so many others, was never investigated for criminal liability.[2] The company had paid compensation to Mr. Singer and to Mr. Winchester’s wife, as well as a fine that barely even touched their profits, and simply chalked it up to the cost of doing business.

Castiel has never had reason to visit Lawrence, for all he lives closer to it than to Sudbury, where the Northern Miners United headquarters are – a forty-five-minute drive, rather than the hour and fifteen it takes him to get to his office. In truth, he rarely has to make the commute, since he’s on the road most of the time for one campaign or another.

He’s not driving today. Instead, he’s waiting in his sun-bright kitchen for Charlie to come pick him up. She has an apartment near the office, and they’ll drive out to meet her friend together. He worked from home today, and while he waits for her to arrive, he reviews the information he’s dug up so far.

Taking on Roman Mills will be a challenge. The parent company is an American-based, global powerhouse well-known for its profits-first zeitgeist. They dabble in multiple industries. CNMU have tangled with them more than once, after Roman bought out several operations where they had successorship clauses – notably Sucrocorp – and waited only until the contracts were up for renegotiation to tighten the union-busting screws. They hadn’t succeeded, but the local unions had felt the strain and had spent weeks on lockout to protect their rights. They’ve never organized a Roman facility from scratch, and that only makes it more critical that they succeed now.

Cas closes up his notes and moves to fill a travel mug with coffee just as he spies Charlie’s bright yellow Gremlin pulling into his tree-lined front drive, behind his ugly but serviceable pickup truck. The sunlight through the leaves makes a dappled pattern on the roof and hood. Charlie’s car is terribly impractical for northern winters, but she rarely has to drive out of town in bad weather and she says the car makes her happy. It’s perfectly serviceable for a summer day like this one. He smiles to himself, glancing around the room to make sure everything is turned off and makes his way to the front door before she can do more than climb out of the car.

“Hey, Cas,” Charlie greets brightly, bouncing on her heels while he locks his front door. “Ready for a road trip? I’m so excited! I never get to do this part.” As head of the IT department for a couple years now, Charlie’s job mostly keeps her in the main office unless there’s a conference going on, but since she has a personal connection to their contact this time, Cas had thought it wise to bring her along.

“So, you met Dean through Moondoor?” Cas asks, once they’re rattling down the narrow country road that leads away from his house. He’s done what preliminary research he can on the company, but outside Charlie’s LARPing stories, he knows very little about the man who reached out to them, other than that he is a friend of Charlie’s – always a recommendation – and that the man who was killed in the accident five years ago was his father.

“Nah,” Charlie says. “Moondoor’s a newer group. We actually met on a Star Trek forum back in like 2003 and hit it off right away. We kept annoying the mods by getting off topic into Star Wars and other things, so we moved over to AIM and managed to keep in touch after the forum shut down.”

She chatters on about her friend, and Cas is happy to listen.

“The first time we met in person, we drove to Comic Con in Toronto. Five hours in his giant beast of a car, and it could have been so awkward, not to mention dangerous, ‘cause guy I’d never met, but by then we’d been friends for a few years. He was the one to talk me through taking mom off life support. I trusted him, y’know? And it turned out to be an awesome weekend. Plus he totally paid for my tattoo.”

Cas glances at her, curious. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo. What is it?”

“Princess Leia straddling a twenty-sided die,” she says in her best innocent tones.

Cas blinks. “That’s, um… wow.”

Charlie snickers. “We might have been a little tipsy when we came up with the idea. I tried to get him to get the same thing, but with Han Solo. I passed out after mine, though, and he never did end up showing me what he got, so I have no idea if he went through with it.”

Unsure how to even begin to respond to this information, Cas says instead, “He sounds like a good friend.”

“The best, honestly. He cares about people so much, you know?” She glances sideways at him. “Kind of like someone else I know.” She waves off his attempts to protest the compliment. “Hush up. You’re going to love him.”

*********

“How is it that in all our years of friendship, I’ve never been to your house?” Charlie asks the second Dean opens his door to greet her grinning face. “Let me in, I want to see.”

She pushes past him, leaving him staring, bemused, at the slightly dishevelled man still standing on his doorstep, just at the edge where it slopes into a wheelchair ramp. Dean had built it himself so Bobby Singer would have no excuse not to visit him.

“Uh,” Dean says. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“Right, yes.” The dark-haired stranger thrusts out a hand awkwardly. “I’m Castiel, a colleague of Charlie’s. I’m an organizer with CNMU. It’s nice to meet you, too, Dean.” And, okay, wow. He’s got a nice, firm handshake and the kind of voice that does things to Dean.

“Right, uh, come in.” Dean steps aside to let him through the door, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “So, organizer. What’s that mean? You in charge of, like, administration? Keeping things running smoothly?” Cas hovers, and Dean offers, “Have a seat, man.”

Dutifully, Castiel takes a seat on the aging green leather couch. It won’t win any awards for beauty, but it’s comfortable and it’s the first piece of furniture Dean bought for his home.

“Not exactly,” Cas clarifies, in response to Dean’s guesses. “I organize new members, help them join the union.”

Dean nods, though he’s still full of questions. “Does that mean I just sign up with you to join the union?” Before Cas can respond, he remembers his manners, and asks, “Can I get you anything? Water? Coke? I could make tea or coffee.” He moves towards the arch that leads to the kitchen.

“Water’s fine, thanks. And no, we organize by workplace. So if we think there’s interest at your plant, we start a campaign to build support among your co-workers, and once we’ve got enough supporters, we hold a vote. Then the labour board has to certify the local.” Cas pauses as if remembering himself. “Sorry, I’m rambling. But, um, since you’re our first contact, it would be great if you joined the inside organizing committee.”

Dean holds up a finger and ducks into the kitchen. He considers the request as he fills a glass. Returning momentarily, he hands the drink over and asks, “If I did join this committee, I’d be working with you and Charlie?”

“Mostly with me. Charlie’s the head of the IT department, so she needs to be focused on that. Although, if the campaign has any social media needs, I’m sure she’ll be involved. She’s mostly here today to introduce us.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean jokes. “She’s doing a great job of that.”

Castiel snorts quietly over the rim of his glass. He’s got a nice smile, Dean notes. “I assure you, she’s normally much more professional than this. The privileges of friendship, I assume.”

As if on cue, Charlie comes bounding back into the room. “Oh, good!” she exclaims when she sees the two of them talking. “You’re getting to know each other. Dean, your house is awesome. But now,” she plunks herself down onto the sofa, “let’s talk union.”

They talk for several hours. Charlie gets Dean to repeat everything he told her about his safety concerns and the working conditions at Roman Mills. Castiel asks insightful questions, getting a better sense of the structure of the mill and feeling out other issues that they can organize around. Pensions come up, as does blatant favouritism. Once Dean’s filled them in, it’s the organizer’s turn to explain the workings of the union and what to expect from a campaign.

They agree to hold a meeting at Dean’s house a week Thursday, and in the meantime, he’ll talk up the union with a few people he thinks will be eager to get on board. With luck, those people will form the core of the inside organizing committee.

It’s after eight when they wind up, and while Cas lives slightly closer, Charlie is facing a two-hour drive before she can even start preparing her supper, let alone actually eat, so Dean invites them both out to the Roadhouse instead. Charlie is taken with Jo Harvelle, who serves their food, but Cas is taken by the burgers, and Dean grins around his own mouthful at his obvious enjoyment.

“Y’know, I make a mean burger myself,” he brags. “Dunno if they measure up to these, but I like to think they’re in the running.”

Charlie finally diverts her attention from Jo to point a finger at him. “I’m gonna make you cook for me.”

“You got it. How about you, Cas? You gonna come sample my burgers someday?”

Cas looks up from his meal, surprise written across his face. “That would be very kind. I– Thank you. I’d like to take you up on that offer.”

“Ooh! You should bring the veggies for the toppings,” Charlie urges him. “Dude,” she informs Dean, “you have not lived until you’ve tasted his tomatoes. Like eating sunshine.”

Cas brushes off Charlie’s praise. “Really it’s the plants that do all the work.”

But Dean is intrigued. “You garden?” he asks. He doesn’t accept Cas’s attempts to demur, and once Cas realizes Dean is truly interested, he talks at length about his hobby, his whole face lighting up in a way Dean thinks he could gaze at forever.

He shuts down the thought quickly. He’s just met the guy, after all, but he can’t stop himself from being drawn in, because Cas can make organic heirloom seeds sound interesting. Before he knows it, Dean is offering to build him seedboxes. From there, they get into Dean’s occasional woodworking and the tee-ball team he coaches. Cas cracks a gummy smile at Dean’s description of the five- and six-year-olds and their enthusiasm for the game they have not yet mastered the skills for.

“They try, though,” Dean says. “Oh my god, do they try.”

“All the time?” Charlie asks. “In _this_ institution?”

Dean chucks his napkin at her.

He and Cas also discover a shared fondness for the questionable reality programming that now makes up the bulk of what the Discovery channel has to offer – Canada’s Worst Driver, Storage Wars, Deadliest Catch, and the like.

“I marathon it when I’m not on the road,” Cas admits. “It’s a guilty pleasure.”

Dean has spent more than one Sunday doing exactly that, so he has no room to judge.

By the end of the evening, Dean’s pretty sure he and Cas are fast friends. At least, he hopes they are, because it’s going to be pretty embarrassing if it turns out Cas is just being professionally friendly.

In the parking lot, Charlie squeezes him tight. He hugs back.

“Be safe driving in that death trap,” he warns her, and she gives him a Vulcan salute as she steps off the curb to unlock the Gremlin. He and Cas hover awkwardly. A handshake feeling too formal, and a hug, well-

Dean settles for clapping a hand on Cas’s shoulder, and Cas returns it with a squeeze to Dean’s upper arm that feels like a brand.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Dean. And I look forward to working with you. We both want the best for the workers at Roman Mills.” That last part sounds like a well-rehearsed speech, but at the same time, devastatingly sincere.

“Likewise,” Dean manages. “We’ll see you soon, Cas.” He stands by his Impala for a long moment, tossing his keys lightly from hand to hand while he watches them pull out and drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 The Criminal Code of Canada allows for corporations, their directors, and executives to be help criminally responsible for workplace deaths caused by negligence. This is sometimes known as the Westray Law, named for the 1992 mining disaster. Unfortunately, this law is rarely applied, and companies often get away with little more than a fine and a slap on the wrist.  [ return to text ]


	3. Chapter Two

Dean Winchester has freckles.

It’s the absolute last thing Cas should be thinking about, but it’s been on his mind since their meeting. Dean has been on his mind. Dean has freckles, and bow legs, and strong hands, and smiling eyes.

Cas yanks a weed out from between his tomatoes with more force than strictly necessary.

It’s not like he’s never met other attractive men through his work, but he’s always done just fine at shutting down those thoughts before they go anywhere. He doesn’t date much, and he’s never dreamed of pursuing someone he was organizing. He is painfully aware of the power imbalance.

And yet, Dean had taken his breath away. It makes him feel like a dirty lech. Just last night, he had dreamt of freckled shoulders and breathless grins. It was wildly inappropriate.

He is wildly inappropriate.

He continues weeding with grim ruthlessness.

It’s not just that Dean is physically attractive, though. If it were, it would be easier to control his feelings. But Dean had been bright and charming and had taken a genuine interest in Cas’s life. Ordinarily, Dean’s charisma would be a boon to any organizing campaign, but Cas is worried about his own response. Surely he’d imagined the nearly instant connection he had felt. No doubt Dean makes everyone feel that way.

He closes his eyes tight and counts to ten. It’s ridiculous to get hung up on a man he has met once.

No matter what, he will simply have to pack his feelings away and do his job. He owes it to Dean, and to all the workers at Roman Mills.

Feeling resolved, if a little melancholy, he finishes up his gardening.

It’s evening, but the day’s humidity hasn’t faded. Cas wipes a gardening glove-covered hand across his damp forehead, leaving behind a streak of soil. Levering himself to his feet, he gathers up his pile of weeds and carries them over to the bag where he lets them dry out before adding them to his compost heap.

The sky’s just beginning to take on a hint of orange as the sun prepares to set. He’ll go inside, he decides, get a glass of lemonade, and settle in for some bad TV. He won’t think about Dean.

Perhaps, he thinks, they could become friends.

No, he won’t think about Dean.

*********

“Well, count me in,” is Donna’s response when Dean mentions the word _union._

“Awesome.” He’d hoped he could count on her and is happy to be proven right. Not only does she have a good head on her shoulders, but she was laid up for two months last winter after breaking her foot at work, so she knows firsthand how bad things have gotten. “We’re gonna have a meeting Thursday, at my place.”

“I’ll be there,” she chirps. “Want me to bring anything?”

“Nah,” Dean waves her off, but then thinks better of it. “Unless you want to swing by Tims.”

“You betcha.”

It’s an eclectic group that gathers at Dean’s house Thursday evening. Donna’s there with a dozen assorted donuts from Tim Hortons, and so is Rufus Turner, who glowers around the room but bites into a donut begrudgingly, powder sticking in his moustache. Bobby Singer, who is on permanent disability but still has plenty of opinions about the goings-on at Roman Mills, snorts at him and nabs an old-fashioned plain for himself.

“Couldn’t let your fancy wheelchair ramp go to waste,” he tells Dean, as his excuse for showing up.

Linda Tran and Mildred Baker are seated on the couch. Linda has been up in arms since her son’s accident and had jumped on the chance to fight back against the company that had treated his injury with little more than a shrug. Mildred had been all set to retire, when the company had unexpectedly cut the pension plan. She’s got another five years at least now and she is mad about it. Dean finds her delightful.

The group is rounded out by Castiel and Charlie, who drove in for the occasion. Dean claps Cas on the shoulder in greeting. “Hey, man. Thanks for being here.”

“Of course.” Cas’s voice is warm. “Do you want to get us started? It’s your house.”

Dean shrugs, nonchalant, and settles in beside him on the arm of the couch. “Nah, you do it. This is your area of expertise.”

“Right.” Cas clears his throat and stands, gaining the group’s attention. “Hello everyone, and thanks for coming. First, let’s all thank Dean for the use of his home.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” Dean pipes up.

Cas can’t quite bite back a smile. “You may come to regret that.” To the group, he continues, “I’m Castiel Novak, and this is Charlie Bradbury. We represent the Canadian Northern Miners United. I’m sure Dean has told you about why we’re here, and I’m hoping you’re here because you share our commitment to making your workplace a safer, more respectful, _better_ place to work.”

He starts out with a brief presentation about the advantages of unionization and about the history and structure of Northern Miners United, then lays out the basic process of the organizing drive.

“Where we can start is making lists of who works at the plant – their shifts, their departments, any contact information we have. This will make it easier to reach out to everyone and help us figure out what numbers we need before we can file with the labour board for the vote.”

Everyone gets down to work, and for a while, the room is filled with chatter as they all try to recall names and contact information. Finally, they’ve compiled the best list they can. The day shift list is pretty thorough, at least in terms of numbers, though they’re missing many last names and a whole lot of phone numbers. The list for the night shift is spotty at best.

Cas looks over the list. “This is an excellent start. The next thing you’ll want to do is to get your hands on any lists you can: shift schedules, seniority lists, company directories, anything we can use to fill in the information we’re missing. It would also be great to get some people involved from the night shift, so please put some thought into who we could ask. For now, I’d like to go through the list and make a note of anyone you think would be very much in favour of the union and anyone who you think would be very much against it.”

Eventually, the meeting ends. Cas and Charlie stay after everyone else files out.

Once the last of the committee members leave, they follow Dean into the kitchen. He’s making good on his promise of homemade burgers and he’d texted Charlie to tell her as much, pleased when Cas arrived with his arms full of garden-fresh vegetables for toppings.

He gets the grill going and fetches the patties he’d made after work, before everyone showed up, from the fridge.

“Knives are in that drawer.” His hands are full, so he indicates with a nod of his head. “And cutting boards are below if you want to start slicing the veggies,” he tells Cas. “Charlie, there’s a new brick of cheddar in the fridge. Can you cut us some slices?”

“On it!” She salutes.

They work in tandem, and soon they’re biting into rich, flavourful burgers. They’re a work of art, if Dean does say so himself. The meat is tender and juicy, the veggies crisp, the cheese gooey, and the buns perfectly toasted.

“Did I know you could cook this well?” Charlie asks rhetorically.

Cas chews and swallows. “Dean, this is truly amazing,” he agrees.

“Nah, it’s nothing.” Dean ducks his head at the praise, even while secretly proud that he managed to put that look on someone’s face with just his grilling abilities.

“So,” he asks Cas, to change the subject, “how’d you end up working for the union?”

Cas gives his burger a wistful look that makes Dean chuckle when he sets it down to answer.

“I actually started out on the inside organizing committee at Laurentian.[3] I was working in the library while I was in school, and when the organizing drive started, one of my co-workers invited me to get involved, and I fell head-first into the labour movement. I started reading everything I could get my hands on about labour history, even switched some of my classes so I could study it more.”

He laughs softly at his younger self. “I was terribly idealistic, of course. I thought we could change the world overnight and got unbelievably frustrated when we couldn’t. Luckily, some more experienced activists helped steer me before I burnt out.”

Despite this only being their second meeting, Dean can easily picture eager, earnest college-age Cas running himself ragged fighting for a cause. It’s kind of adorable. “But obviously it didn’t kill your interest,” he observes.

“No,” Cas agrees. “But I did get more sensible about it. I got a full-time job at the library after I graduated, so I was able to stay with the union and take some courses with them. Eventually, they started bringing me on to help out with other organizing drives on a casual basis. I did that for a number of years. Then, when one of the organizers who had mentored me retired, I applied for his job and was lucky enough to get it.”

“Pretty sure that was skill, not luck, dude,” Charlie contradicts him.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who got lucky when you got that job,” Dean chimes in. He sees Charlie bite back a snicker at his unintentional innuendo, and flashes her the middle finger. Cas, thankfully, is absorbed in his burger and fails to notice.

*********

Dean’s mom tells him to come for Sunday dinner that week, so Dean shows up laden with food.

“Oh honey,” Mary greets him, taking the casserole dish from his arms. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble. I could have bought a frozen lasagna.” Notably, though, she hasn’t. This is how their meals together always go.

“Or we could eat something that actually tastes good.” Dean winks. “It’s okay; I’ll make you toss the salad.”

Mary had never learned to cook more than basics, and even those not very well. On the other hand, when Dean had been struggling in school – before they’d learned he was dyslexic – he’d taken as many shop and home ec classes as he could to bring up his average. His father had grumbled about the home ec, but even he couldn’t complain once he’d tasted Dean’s food and had even taken to complimenting it. Soon, the family had been eating his cooking for most meals.

In the kitchen he grew up in, Dean pops the casserole into the oven to warm, and as threatened, sets his mom to work on the salad while he slices thick hunks of fresh bread and sets the table for two.

“I bought a pie for after,” Mary offers. “Strawberry-rhubarb.”

“You’re the best, Mom.”

Mary shakes her head fondly. “It’s nice to know some things never change. And hey, speaking of things that don’t change, I ran into Mrs. McLeod downtown yesterday, swanning around like she still owned the place.” The McLeods are a popular source of local gossip, and even Mary can’t resist getting in on it. “She sure is stylish, though.”

Dean laughs. “And she knows it. Speaking of things that are stylish, and things that _do_ change, I saw Bobby the other day, and he was wearing a new hat.”

“I know.” Mary’s lips curve up, smug. “I gave it to him.”

“And you convinced him to wear it? You’re some kind of miracle worker.”

They spend the rest of the time while the meal’s in the oven chatting about the various people they know in town. Dean’s just winding up a story about his latest run-in with his horrible cousin Christian – neither he nor Mary get along with her side of the family – when the timer dings.

“So what have you been up to lately?” his mom asks as he dons the oven mitts to pull out the now bubbling lasagna. “I haven’t seen you since after your Ren Faire weekend. Have you been keeping busy?”

Dean doesn’t bother to correct her on the difference between LARP and a ren faire. It’s a lost cause.

“Actually,” he says, setting the dish aside to scoop caesar salad onto their plates, “I’ve been trying to get a union started at work, do something about all the accidents.” He aims for a casual tone.

Mary frowns as he places her plate in front of her and settles into his own seat. “You know your father hated unions.”

And there it is.

“Yeah, well, I bet he hated dying in the name of Dick Roman’s riches, too,” Dean snaps, then instantly regrets it when his mother’s face falls.

He knows she’s been struggling since John’s death, guilty over all the ways she feels she was an inadequate wife. For every argument they had while he was alive, she’s doubled down on supporting him now. It’s as if being loyal to his beliefs, even those she openly questioned when he was alive, lets her feel like she’s making up for something.

He understands, really, but he doesn’t like it. It’s like every time in his childhood when her “sad weeks” would be followed by days of trying to be a perfect, accommodating wife and mother, only for it to inevitably fall apart. Only this time, it’s lasted five years.

“I know John could be hard headed–” she begins placatingly.

Dean huffs out a breath. “You know he doesn’t care if you agree with him now, right?”

She winces visibly. “Dean–”

He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s an asshole.

“Sorry,” he says, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth to stop from saying more. Mary heaves a sigh.

The rest of the meal passes in awkward near-silence. They don’t make eye contact. Dean barely tastes his pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 For the purposes of this story, I have chosen to have the workers at Laurentian University be represented by the fictional CNMU. However, Laurentian is a real university, and its employees are actually represented by real unions: the Laurentian University Faculty Association, the Laurentian University Staff Union, or CUPE (Canadian Union of Public Employees). My apologies to these unions and their members.  [ return to text ]


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: This chapter contains ableist language being used against Dean because of his dyslexia.

Sam’s reaction isn’t much better than his mother’s.

“You know Dad hated unions,” he says during their biweekly phone call. Sam had moved to Montreal when he got into McGill, and he’d stayed through law school and now works at a firm that specializes in copyright law. They used to call more often, but the life of a new lawyer is a busy one. No doubt, they’d talk even less, but Dean insists upon it. Sam may be too good for Lawrence, but he isn’t too good for his family.

Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s what Mom said. Besides, Dad hated a lot of things.”

He can all but feel Sam’s flinch over the phone.

“Jesus, Dean. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–” John Winchester had been a man of decided, if conservative opinions.

Dean tucks his phone more firmly under his ear. “It’s whatever.”

Sam tries again. “I know Dad was wrong about a lot of things–”

Dean grunts. “You can just say he was a homophobe. It’s not gonna break my heart.”

“And he was wrong about that. And hey, maybe he was wrong about unions, too, but is this really something you need to take on?”

“Dude, a kid nearly lost his hand. Dad _died_. Something’s got to change.”

“I’m not saying it’s not good that you care about people at the mill,” Sam says in his best _I am a being of pure reason_ tone, “but why does it have to be up to you? If things are so bad there, why don’t you just quit?”

“And do what, Sam? Even if I could leave everyone else in the dust, there’s not a lot of options around here, and it’s not like I’ve ever done anything else. Wanna see how far my no education gets me?”

Sam huffs an irritated breath, and Dean can picture him pinching the bridge of this nose. “I don’t know why you never wanted to go to university. Or even college.”[4]

Dean laughs, glad that the phone covers up any hint of bitterness. “Well, you’re the smart one, Sammy.” He smiles until his cheeks hurt, even though Sam can’t see him, because Sam might not remember, but Dean sure does.

The fact is, he’d always struggled with school. Sure, he could and did read for fun, but whenever there was assigned reading, it was evident how much slower he was then the other kids, and more than one teacher had berated him for his poor spelling. And whatever his father and his report cards might say, it wasn’t for lack of effort.

“Christ, Dean,” he remembers his father saying, looking over his final report card for grade eight. “Do you even try? You’re lucky you’re even getting into high school.”

Dean had ducked his head over the kitchen table.

“Oh lay off, John,” Mary snapped, snatching the report card out of his hand. “He does six hours of homework a night. Of course he’s trying. School’s just not for everyone.”

“I got straight A's,” Sam announced, because even at ten, of course he was smarter than Dean.

“That’s great, sweetie,” Mary had praised him vaguely, brow furrowed when John just grunted and left the room. Dean avoided everyone’s eyes until his mother’s hand settled on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey,” she told him with a half-hearted smile and a sorry attempt at humour, “we only have money for one of you to go to university anyway.”

It became their joke.

“Don’t worry, we can only afford to send one of you to school,” Mary would assure him as she waved him out the door and away from the unfinished homework he had been struggling with all Saturday afternoon. “Go have fun with your friends.”

“Can only send one of us to school anyway,” Dean would shrug like it didn’t matter, showing her yet another paper with a D grade.

It wasn’t like it was the end of the world. Dean would end up working at the sawmill with his dad. Everyone did, eventually. It was just what you did in Lawrence.

And then in grade ten, a teacher had recognized _something_ , and then there was a flurry of tests, and a diagnosis of dyslexia, and his mom practically storming the school, because _how had they let him struggle for so long?_ (She’d spent a week in bed after the anger passed.)

Suddenly there were supports he never had before, and his grades started inching up, bit by bit, until it was the winter of grade eleven, and he was bringing home a report card full of B's and even A's. His mom had beamed at him, and even his dad clapped him on the shoulder with pride before heading out to shovel the walk.

“You did so good, sweetheart.” Mary was mixing up hot chocolate from a tin – the kind with the marshmallows already mixed in. “Have you thought about doing OAC?”[5] She passed him a mug, and sat down with her own, calling, “Sam, come get your hot chocolate.”

“Not really.” Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I mean, what’s the point. Not like I’m going to university, y’know?”

Mary smiled over the rim of her mug. There were little clumps of chocolate around the edge – she never managed to mix it quite right. “You could, you know. You’ve got the grades for it now, and I’ve heard that the schools offer support for students with learning disabilities.”

“Christ, Mom,” Dean turned away, his face red. “You don’t have to call it that.”

She laid a gentle hand on his wrist. “Think about it, Dean.”

“But that’s not fair!” a betrayed voice exclaimed.

They were both startled by Sam’s outburst. He stood in the kitchen doorway, twelve years old and quivering with indignation. “Why does Dean get to go to university? I’m the smart one!”

“Hey!” Mary barked.

“Well, I am,” he insisted, petulantly. “And I’ve wanted to go to university forever, so why does Dean get to go, just cause he’s suddenly less stupid now that someone’s holding his hand?”

“Samuel Eugene Winchester,” Mary snapped, rising to her feet. “You can both go to university. But you don’t talk about your brother that way. Go to your room!”

Sam turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, his shout of, “You can only afford to send one,” trailing behind him.

Dean stared down into the sugary dregs of his drink, as Mary sat back down.

“You can both go to university,” she reiterated. “You’d need to have a part-time job, but you can apply for OSAP,[6] and we can make it work.”

But Dean was already shaking his head. “It’s okay. I was never planning on going. Besides, Dad says he can get me in at the mill, soon as I graduate.”

“Dean, you aren’t stupid–”

He looked away, pressing his lips together. “Never said I was. The mill’s a good job. It’s what I’ve always planned on. And hey, if Sammy’s so smart, why’d he forget his hot chocolate.” He snagged the mug. “Guess it’s mine now.”

Dean doesn’t hold it against him, not really. Kids can be selfish, and university had always been Sam’s dream. It was just as well, too, that Dean didn’t go, because a few years later, Sam got into McGill, and going out of province was always going to cost more. So everything had worked out for the best.

It sure would be nice if Sam remembered, though. Maybe then he’d lay off and realize that it wasn’t always a matter of wanting; some people just didn’t get the same chance.

Dean spends a few more minutes on the phone with his brother, not talking about much of substance and avoiding touchy subjects. Sam’s got a date that night, a new girl he seems really into, so they cut the call short.

It bothers Dean less than it usually does.

*********

The organizing committee meets again on Friday. Charlie doesn’t come this time, but Cas arrives with stacks of cards to distribute. On one side, they have spaces for the worker’s information. On the other, they can sign and date the card to pledge their support for joining the union.

“We need to collect signed cards from at least forty percent of your co-workers in order to apply for a vote,” Cas explains. “We may also decide to wait to get more than that if we want to be sure of our support.

“What you need to do is start conversations with your co-workers, starting with those you think will be supportive, and ask them if they would be willing to sign these cards. It’s possible that they might not be ready just yet. That’s okay. Find out what their concerns are, and we can figure out how to address them.”

Benny Lafitte has joined their ranks this time, representing the small but significant French Canadian cohort, and volunteers to speak to the other francophones, particularly those who don’t speak much English. In past years, Benny’s helped Dean coach his tee-ball team, but this year he’s been busy with his wife and their new baby, and it feels like they’ve barely seen one another. “Do we fill out cards ourselves?” he asks.

“Yes, please do,” Cas agrees, passing individual cards out to the group, except Bobby, who, on permanent disability, is not one of the members of the potential bargaining unit. “Please be sure to sign and date them, and make sure that new supporters date their cards as well.”

Linda is the first one done filling out her card. “So, how are you liking parenthood?” she asks Benny, capping her pen with a decisive click.

He chuckles. “It’s exhausting, but I love it. I wish I could have stayed home longer, but we just couldn’t afford to both be on leave.” He signs his card with a flourish.

Cas overhears and asks, “So, once you’re unionized, should we try to bargain in a parental leave top-up?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” Donna agrees.

Benny nods. “It sure would help me out. Little Lizzie isn’t gonna stay an only child forever.”

“Well, I’m too old to have kids of my own, but it sure sounds nice for you young folks,” Mildred chimes in. “Add that to our goals.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Cas promises, collecting the signed cards from around the room. “Does anyone have other suggestions for issues we can focus on, or ways we can promote the union?” Several people look ready to speak at once. He picks one. “Rufus, why don’t you start?”

After the meeting, Dean convinces Cas to go to the Roadhouse again. Cas only has one beer, right at the beginning, so he can drive home later, and Dean follows his example, but it does nothing to quell the flow of conversation.

Cas gets to talking about some of the organizing drives he’s worked on in the past, and Dean’s tempted to just lean his chin on his hands and listen to Cas speak. He gets especially animated when he starts describing a recent victory at a daycare centre in a small northern community. The new local union is largely Indigenous and mostly made up of women, and before their first contract, they’d barely been making poverty wages with no benefits.

“That’s why I do this,” he explains fiercely, his cooling fries forgotten in his passion. “People deserve to do more than just struggle to survive. What’s the point of working if you still can’t afford a decent life?” As if just noticing Dean’s eyes on him, he pauses in his tirade, abashed. “I’m sorry. I’m probably boring you.”

“I’m not bored.” In truth, Dean could listen to Cas talk about this all night, and it has nothing to do with the high colour in his cheeks or the brightness of his eyes, though those don’t hurt. “Seriously, eat some of your fries before they get too cold, then tell me more.”

It’s surprisingly late when they leave the Roadhouse. They’d both arrived in Cas’s truck since it had been parked behind the Impala in the driveway, so he gives Dean a lift back home.

When they pull up in front of the house, Dean unbuckles his seatbelt but makes no immediate move to leave the truck. Instead, he angles his body towards Cas. “Thanks, man. I had a great time.” Unconsciously, he lifts his hand, as if to cup Cas’s face for a kiss, before he realizes what he’s doing and swiftly pulls his hand back to his side. This may feel absurdly like being dropped off at the end of a date, but that’s not what it is. This is Cas’s job, for fuck’s sake.

Besides, Cas is amazing. Cas does important work. There’s no way Cas would go for some Joe Blow like Dean.

“I’ll, uh, see you around,” he mumbles, scrambling for the door handle and leaping out of the truck like his ass is on fire. Cas gives him an odd look, but he’s already hurrying up the driveway to his door, his hand raised in a stiff wave.

*********

Cas lifts his hand tentatively, but Dean already has his back to him. Slowly, he lowers his hand and lets out a breath between his teeth. That was awkward. For half a moment, he’d imagined that Dean was about to kiss him.

How ridiculous.

And no wonder Dean had sprung out of the truck so fast. He must have read Cas’s desires on his face and bolted. _Shit._ Cas runs a hand through his already messy hair. Hopefully the damage isn’t irreparable. He’ll have to be more careful next time, keep a tighter rein on his emotions, and hope that he hasn’t made Dean too uncomfortable to keep working with him. If need be, he can apologize and assure Dean that he has no intention of overstepping his boundaries.

 _One surefire way of making him uncomfortable is sitting outside his house in your truck, assbutt,_ he chides himself, then pauses to marvel at whatever part of him considered _assbutt_ a good insult. He clenches a hand on the steering wheel.

Dean gets his door unlocked, and glances over his shoulder just before stepping inside. Seeing Cas still sitting there, he waves again, more naturally this time. Cas returns the wave and finally manages to turn his keys in the ignition. Maybe things aren’t unsalvageable after all.

As he pulls back onto the street, he reaches over to switch the radio on. A top 40 station comes on, but as much as he enjoys Daft Punk’s Get Lucky, it’s not what he’s in the mood for. He presses the button for his next preset and the twang of old hound-dog country fills the vehicle. Better.

The roads are dark and quiet once he gets out of town, and he turns the volume dial down low, humming along with the sad songs. The drive is hypnotic. His limbs are heavy and he realizes distantly that he must be more tired than he had thought. Dean had kept him thoroughly distracted all evening.

He needs to stop thinking about Dean.

Thankfully, it’s the start of a long weekend. He’ll need to attend the Labour Day festivities, of course, but that still leaves him Saturday and Sunday with nothing that has to be done. He’ll putter around his house and garden, maybe even finish the novel that’s been sitting dog-eared and unfinished on his nightstand for more than a month now. It will be a quiet weekend. Pleasant.

So why does it suddenly feel lonely?

Cas has always been somewhat solitary. Growing up, it had been easier to keep to himself than to try to fit into a family who never really saw who he was. He’d been quiet and awkward in school, as well. And while he meets numerous people through his job, once a new local union is organized, he passes them on to their staff rep and at most makes friendly chit-chat with the members he’s worked with when he runs into them at union events. He’s never minded until now.

He sighs as he pulls into his long driveway. He hadn’t expected to stay out so late, so the porch light isn’t on. It’s fitting for his mood.

He unlocks the door by touch and goes about flicking the lights on as he makes his way through the house. It’s wasteful to have so many lights on at once but it makes him feel less alone. Maybe he should get a cat, he muses, to greet him at the door. But he could never get a pet sitter all the way out here when he has to travel.

Maybe he should get a date, he thinks sardonically, but then his mind supplies green eyes and a winning smile, and he shuts that thought down ruthlessly.

What he should do, and what he does, is to fetch his book, pour himself a drink, and curl up on his saggy but comfortable sofa and let the fictional characters keep him company until he drifts off mid-sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 In Canada, colleges generally focus on vocational or technical training and offer diploma or certificate programs, whereas universities are generally focused on academics and professional programs and offer degrees.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 5 OAC, or the Ontario Academic Credit was an optional fifth year of high school for students planning on attending post-secondary education. It was phased out in 2003. [ return to text ]
> 
> 6 OSAP, the Ontario Student Assistance Program is a combination of grants and loans offered by the Ontario government to help students pay for their education. [ return to text ]


	5. Chapter Four

The Saturday of Labour Day weekend is Dean’s team’s last game of the season. He whoops and hollers along with the enthusiastic parents, marvelling at how much the kids have improved since the spring. Even when they fumble the ball or trip on their feet, he claps and shouts encouragement, and he hands out high-fives and orange slices after the game, accepting sticky, dirt-covered hugs and hopes that he’ll be their coach again next year.

Even though he hasn’t been playing himself, by the time he’s exchanged handshakes with the last parent and loaded up his car, he’s sweaty and covered in dirt. He grimaces at climbing into the Impala in that state, patting her dashboard in apology. It’s a long weekend; he can vacuum her later.

At home, he sheds his dirty clothes into the hamper and hops into the shower. He tilts his head back and lets the water stream over him, pleasantly cool against the heat of the day. He absolutely does not think about handsome, blue-eyed union reps while he’s in there, and Cas’s smile is absolutely not on his mind as he towels himself off and gets dressed.

He hasn’t heard from his mom since the awkward dinner last weekend, so he goes to check on her next. He’s not surprised to find the house in disarray and a total lack of food in the fridge, other than a few ketchup packets she must have picked up from a fast food place and a wilted head of lettuce. Mary’s always had these slumps, where she seems to lose the motivation to take care of anything, including herself.

The worst had been after Sam was born. That had lasted months, and Dean remembers being young and scared and having no idea how to take away his mother’s sadness. His dad had stepped up then, taking the time to provide his young sons with care and comfort, keeping the house from descending into chaos. But as the years had gone on, John’s patience had been worn more and more thin by these episodes, until his reaction became the part Dean most dreaded about Mary’s moods. He’d learned to step up himself, instead.

Having been gone for a week, immediately following a fight, the neglect is no surprise. What Dean isn’t expecting is for Mary to emerge from the bathroom with the blonde hair she’s always worn long shorn to shoulder-length.

“Do you like it?” she asks, in lieu of greeting him.

“Holy shit, Mom,” is all he manages. If the haircut weren’t enough, her wedding ring has been relocated from her finger to a chain around her neck.

“It was weighing me down,” she says, apropos the hair, though she tucks the ring under her shirt as she says it, then sighs and deflates and folds him into a hug. “I’m sorry about last week, honey. You know I’m always proud of you for standing up for what you believe in. Tell me about this union?”

Dean frowns, skeptical. He knows deflection when he sees it. “Tell me how you’re doing first. Because this is a big change.”

Mary shrugs off his concern. “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He gives her a look that speaks volumes – that’s never going to happen – but she steers him into the kitchen with a promise that she’s okay.

“I had a few bad days, but it’s passing, I promise. I felt better today than I have all week. And I really do want to know about your union, so fill me in.”

There was a time when she hadn’t even been able to acknowledge her depressive periods, so Dean takes her relative openness for what it’s worth and lets her put on the coffee maker for both of them, while he explains the work they’ve done so far and what they hope to achieve.

He finds himself talking about Cas – not just his plans to improve the lives of the workers at Roman Mills, but his passion for workers’ rights and the things he’s learned about his life as well. Mary gets a knowing look in her eye but simply says, “It sounds like you’re becoming good friends.”

“Christ, Mom,” Dean says, picking up on her implication nonetheless and reddening.

“What?” she asks, faux-innocently. “I was just making an observation.”

“Guy’s just doing his job.” Sure, he likes to think he and Cas are friendly, but Cas probably has to establish a rapport with everyone he works with. Besides, Cas is awesome. Even if he does think of them as friends, he could do so much better than Dean. He remembers the almost-kiss with a wince.

Mary hums. “Whatever you say, sweetie. I’m glad you’ve made a new friend, even if it isn’t, well, anything else.” She pours him a mug of coffee and passes it over, before pouring her own.

Coffee cup to his lips, Dean shakes his head with a rueful smile. She doesn’t give up. “You want some help cleaning this place up?” he offers as a distraction.

Her brow pinches as she looks around the house. It’s hard to believe all this has piled up in only a week. “You shouldn’t have to pick up after me.” She sips her coffee to avoid eye contact.

Dean’s already on his feet, setting his coffee aside and filling the sink with hot soapy water for the dishes to soak in. “Yeah, well, I’m going to anyway. That’s what I’m here for.”

She bites her lip. “You’re always so helpful.”

“Well, I try,” he says, carefully cheerful, pretending not to see the troubled look in Mary’s eyes.

“Dean, you shouldn’t give so much if you’re not getting back.”

“Mom…” What can he even say to that? “You’re doing your best.”

*********

**September 2013**

Labour day for the union reps means marching in the big parade, followed by a barbecue. Cas and Charlie get to the union hall early to hand out t-shirts to their marchers – mostly members of the more local locals. Thankfully, Cas’s back has recovered from sleeping on the couch Friday night. From the hall, the whole CNMU contingent heads to the start of the parade route, where they are marching between the Steelworkers in front and CUPE behind.

This year, their banner is being carried by the bargaining committee from a local at Oak Park Nursing Home, mostly made up of young and immigrant women, who have just signed a good contract after a long and difficult negotiation. They should be rightfully proud of themselves. He and Charlie take up their forest green and teal flags and fall into line.

There’s a good wind today, setting everyone’s flags jauntily flying, and the mood is jubilant. Cas is in high spirits himself, and Charlie is all but prancing beside him, until her flag overbalances her, and she nearly turns an ankle.

“Oops.” She laughs. “Guess I’d better walk properly. We can talk better that way, anyway.”

“What would you like to talk about?” Cas asks her, squinting against the sun with a content smile on his face.

“Ooh!” She nudges him with her elbow. “Tell me what you think of Dean. You two have totally clicked, just like I thought you would.”

There is a gleam in her eyes that Cas doesn’t trust. How transparent is he? “I would like to think we’re becoming friends,” he hedges.

“Well obviously, but are we talking a pants-on or a pants-off friendship?”

“A pants-off–” he repeats faintly. “Charlie! He’s a potential member. We’re helping him. I couldn’t possibly take advantage of that.”

Charlie pumps a fist in triumph. “So you admit you are into him.”

He drops his voice. “I may have a small crush. But I promise I won’t be acting on it. Could we drop it, please?”

Charlie looks like she wants to argue, but something about his tone must dissuade her. “Oh, all right,” she gives in. “But just so you know, I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought you were the type to abuse your position. So stop beating yourself up, mmkay?” He gives her a look, and she mimes zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

Her silence doesn’t last long, but she does have the good grace to change the subject, and if Cas is more contemplative than usual for the rest of the march, she doesn’t comment. He’s grateful that she thinks so well of him, that she trusts him not to overstep with her friend, but he’s all too aware of his position of power. It’s just a silly crush, he tells himself firmly. It’s not worth broaching the subject. It’s not worth thinking about at all.

*********

The committee members have spent the week talking to workers one on one, avoiding those they expect to be hostile for now. Dean says he wouldn’t put it past a couple of them to go running to the supervisors with news of the union activity. Roman will catch wind of what they’re doing eventually, but the longer they can go without the company putting the pressure on, the safer the workers will feel to talk to them about their concerns.

They’ve managed to collect at least a few cards each, which Castiel accepts from them after the end of the day shift Friday. It’s early days yet, and he’s proud of the success they’ve already had, more so when Donna informs him that she has a number of other people who are leaning towards signing cards but who need a little more talking around first. A few others agree that they’re in the same boat. Dean, unsurprisingly, has the most – he’s got a natural charisma and clearly cares deeply about his fellow workers, and that draws people into his cause. Cas is certainly drawn in, though he’s keeping a tight rein on his attraction.

They’ve met up in the local Tim Horton’s, which isn’t far from the mill, and with the formalities done with, Cas is sipping his coffee and letting the chatter of the committee members wash over him. The bell chimes, and Dean – whom he’d been watching out of the corner of his eye, despite himself – stands to wave over the newcomers, a pair of burly men.

“Hey, guys.” He grins. “Cas, this is Jesse and Cesar Cuevas. They usually work the night shift, but that’s only Sunday through Thursday, so I convinced them to come out tonight.”

Cas stands to shake their hands. They both have a good, strong grip. Donna hops up to give them both hugs, and the others who know them call out their greetings.

“Dean’s been telling us about this union,” Cesar says, as Jesse steps away to place their coffee order. Cas notes with interest the way his hand lingers on Cesar’s shoulder and the matching rings they wear. It’s always good to see other queer men, especially ones being warmly welcomed into the group. Cas spends a lot of time in small communities, and some of them are quite conservative. He’s pleased to note that none of the group he’s working with here seem to be.

“I hear you don’t have anyone from the night-shift, yet,” Cesar continues, as his husband returns and presses a paper cup into his hand.

“Yes, that’s right,” Cas affirms.

“Well, we’d be happy to help out with that,” Jesse offers.

“That would be wonderful.”

Cas spends the rest of the informal meeting explaining their role to them and is surprised some time later when people start taking their leave, tossing out their empty cups on the way out the door. He’s entirely lost track of the time.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Jesse says, getting to his feet. “It’s date night, tonight.”

“Aw, Cesar,” Dean teases. “Are you taking him somewhere classier than Tim Hortons?”

“You bet your ass,” Cesar answers, and they both laugh. Jesse and Cesar wave as they head out the door.

“Cesar and I dated for like a week when we were twenty,” Dean volunteers as an explanation. “This is the only place we ever went.” He chuckles and then seems to see something in Cas’s face, because he asks, “That’s not a problem, right?”

Cas gives himself a shake. This information shouldn’t change anything for him. Dean is still off limits. “No, of course not, Dean. I just didn’t realize. Charlie’s always telling me my gaydar is terrible.”

Dean snorts. “She says the same thing to me. I’m bi, though, for the record.”

“If yours is as bad as mine, do I need to tell you I’m gay?” Cas asks dryly.

Dean laughs and claps a hand on his back. “Charlie may have mentioned it. She might also have used the words _helpful_ and _dreamy_.” He raises an eyebrow at Cas, who flushes. “So, uh, what are you planning to do for the rest of the night?” Dean asks, holding open the door for Cas, who has his hands full with his laptop bag, the signed cards and a honey cruller he bought for the road. “Anything fun?”

Cas shrugs, his mouth twisting ruefully. “Not really. I need to get these entered into our database, so it’s frozen pizza in front of the laptop for me. I should really get driving.” He sets his belongings on the hood of his truck while he fishes in his pocket for his keys.

Just as he retrieves them, Dean stops him with a hand on his arm. “Can you enter the cards from anywhere?”

“I can, as long as I have my laptop and wifi.”

“Well then, I’m not letting you eat frozen pizza for dinner. You’re gonna come sit on my couch and work, and I’ll make you dinner.”

“Dean, I couldn’t impose on you like that,” Cas protests, despite the warm feeling that Dean’s invitation creates.

“Not imposing, Cas.” Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Wouldn’t want you to make a mistake because you’re busy eating cardboard.”

Cas chuckles. “It’s just data entry, hardly rocket science. But who am I to turn down home cooking?”

“You won’t regret it,” Dean promises, moving around his front bumper to unlock his black beast of a car. By chance, he’s parked right beside Cas’s beat up pickup truck.

“I’ll follow you back,” he agrees, unlocking his own door. He retrieves his belongings from the hood and shoves them across into the passenger seat before climbing in.

It’s a short drive to Dean’s house, and when they get there, Dean installs him firmly on the couch. He wanders into the kitchen and comes back with a beer for him. “You want a drink?” He hands it over when Cas nods. “I’m gonna go cook, then. Want anything in particular?”

“I’m sure whatever you make will be fine, Dean,” Cas assures him, already booting up his laptop.

“Okay, well. Shout if you need anything.” He disappears into the kitchen again, and Cas settles in to work. He could have sent the cards off to Hannah, the Organizing department’s support staff, to enter, but it’s a Friday, and there’s few enough so far that it shouldn’t take him too long to finish. He finishes up one record, hits save and moves on to the next. Once the numbers start rolling in, he’ll bring in his redoubtable support staff to help him manage. For now, he’s comfortable working quietly.

He can hear the faint sounds of Dean moving around his kitchen, and delicious smells waft through to him. It’s terribly domestic, and he has to quash the flutter in his chest when Dean appears in the doorway with two bowls of stir-fry.

“That smells wonderful,” he praises, at the same time as Dean asks, “You okay to eat in here?”

“Of course.” He hits save and folds up his laptop, setting it aside and shifting over to make room for Dean beside him. Even so, they find themselves bumping elbows as they dig in. Cas closes his eyes and counts to ten. He will be a professional. He will be. He will.

“Dude, what’s up?” Dean nudges him. “Something wrong with the food?”

Cas’s eyes flutter open. “No, it’s nothing.” Nothing at all.

He can be Dean’s friend.


	6. Chapter Five

They are slowly but steadily recruiting members, so it’s inevitable that Roman eventually finds out what they’re up to, but it’s still a blow when they find out that management has distributed a letter to every worker, denouncing the union and encouraging them to report union “harassment.” It turns out that copies have been couriered to all the workers’ homes, too, so that their spouses will see it. The rest of the letter is textbook, tired anti-union propaganda that makes Cas roll his eyes, but Dean and the rest of the committee are shocked and disheartened.

“Can they do this?” Dean demands, waving the letter. His first instinct had been to tear it up, but reason had prevailed, and he’d kept it to show to Cas. He’d called him at his first break, and they’d organized this meeting by the end of the day.

Cas purses his lips. “They can present their side, but legally they cannot intimidate anyone or retaliate against you for your involvement with the union. If they try, please let me know immediately. We can file a complaint on your behalf.”

“So how do we counter this?” Linda asks. “We know it’s packed full of lies, but it’s going to scare people out of supporting us.”

Grimly, they all sit down to strategize.

Now that the company knows about them, they can campaign openly. They start with leaflets that Cas had already created and has ready to go for this eventuality. They’re sitting in his office in boxes, so he drives into Sudbury early the next morning to pick them up, then drives back to Lawrence before noon. He has lunch with Bobby Singer, and the two of them position themselves at the sawmill gates in order to pass out the leaflets to the workers as they depart for the day. Dean and Mildred join them later, to leaflet the incoming night-shift workers.

Within a day, Charlie has a hashtag going for the organizing drive on Twitter and an opt-in email list for campaign updates. The next few weeks are soon swept up in union activity.

*********

“What was your father like?” Cas asks one night after a lengthy strategy session. They’ve discussed John Winchester before, but only in the context of the accident that had ended his life.

Everyone else has departed, and he and Dean are relaxing on the couch sipping beers. When Cas had initially tried to demur, Dean had offered up his spare room in case Cas wasn’t okay to drive later. Cas should probably have said no anyway, but he enjoys Dean’s company too much, and surely there can’t be any harm in it.

Dean huffs out a breath at Cas’s question. “Well shit. He’d be totally against what we’re doing here.” He gestures with his bottle, as if to indicate the two of them, but clarifies, “The union, I mean. Wouldn’t matter that I’m doing this because of him, because of how he died. He was a conservative guy. Total hardass. I never told him I was queer. Mom and Sam knew, but he wouldn’t have liked it”

Cas’s lips press together in a grim line, but Dean goes on.

“But he was my dad, y’know? I loved him. I miss him. He took us fishing, coached our baseball teams. It’s why I started coaching tee-ball. And it wasn’t easy for him, either, with a wife who couldn’t get out of bed some days, and Sam fighting him every step of the way, not to mention a dumbass son practically failing every class.”

Cas pauses with his bottle halfway to his lips. “I’d hardly call you a dumbass, Dean.”

“Well sure,” Dean says a little too smoothly. “Turns out I’m dyslexic. So a little less dumb, a little less ass. But we didn’t know that at the time. Point is, he didn’t exactly get the life he signed up for.”

“People rarely do.” Cas touches a hand to Dean’s forearm. His eyes alight on the sight of his fingertips against the soft grey cotton of Dean’s shirt, and he has to avert his gaze before he can bring himself to sever the touch. “It’s what we do with the life we get. And Dean,” he regards him seriously, “you’ve made your life meaningful.”

Their eyes catch and hold for several long beats, breath still in their chests, before one corner of Dean’s mouth tilts up in a way that speaks of wryness. “Thanks, Cas. I could say the same of you.”

A comfortable silence settles over them as they sip their beers. Eventually, Dean nudges him with his elbow. Cas turns his head to see Dean regarding him with a small, crooked smile. “You know, I don’t talk about my dad to just anyone. So, thanks.”

Cas returns the look with a soft one of his own. “Anytime, Dean.”

Hours later, when Cas finds himself lying awake, he can’t blame the quality of Dean’s guest room mattress. He’s used to sleeping in unfamiliar beds, after all. Instead, his mind is hopelessly snared on that upward curve of Dean’s lips.

*********

**October 2013**

The week before Thanksgiving, [7] once the union business is out of the way, the end of the meeting is mostly filled with chatter about everyone’s family plans.

“How about you, Cas?” Dean asks once everyone else leaves, and it’s just the two of them left. “Any plans for the long weekend?” Cas had been silent for most of the group discussion, and trust Dean to have picked up on it.

“Oh,” Cas says. “No. All my family lives in Toronto. It’s too long a drive for such a short visit.” He almost leaves it there, with the usual, acceptable excuse, but something about Dean’s attention makes him want to open up. “Honestly, I’m not really in contact with my family.”

“They all dicks?” Dean asks. “Like, a bunch of homophobes, or–?” He leaves the question open-ended.

Cas shakes his head. “They didn’t throw me out, if that’s what you’re asking. It was my choice to cut them out. They’re all in business and finance, CEOs, corporate lawyers, that sort of thing. They never really understood why I would go into something as unlucrative as sociology or why I moved all the way up here for school, let alone my leftist leanings. When I got involved with the union and then took a job with them–” He shrugs. “I’m sure the gay thing didn’t help, but mostly I was sick of hearing digs at what I do – what I care about. If I had to hear my uncle Zachariah ‘jokingly,’” he does the air quotes, “call me a traitor to our family’s interests one more time... So I cut them off. My mother calls a few times a year, to see if I’ve come to my senses, but that’s about it. I know family is important–”

“But you couldn't keep putting up with them tearing you down. I get it.”

Cas makes an angry noise. “My brother Michael once suggested that if _the unwashed masses_ – his words – wanted to earn enough to live on, they should try working harder, stop asking for breaks and weekends. Meanwhile, he spends half his workdays on the golf course, and I know for a fact his workers make peanuts, but of course he deserves every penny of his millions.” Cas wouldn’t dare take on _that_ organizing drive, due to the conflict of interest, but he’s pleased to know that one of his colleagues is quietly making inroads at Michael’s Mississauga plant.

Dean snorts. “What a douchebag. I can’t say I blame you for avoiding them. But please tell me you’re at least having a turkey.”

“A turkey for one? I’d be eating nothing else for weeks.”

“You could come to my mom’s,” Dean surprises him by offering.

Cas shakes his head. “I couldn’t possibly put your mother to the trouble.”

“You wouldn’t be. Mom can’t cook for shit. I’m cooking, and it’s no trouble for me. She’s just hosting.”

“Yes, but it’s a family meal.”

“C’mon,” Dean cajoles, “Bobby will be there, and Sam’s bringing his new girlfriend. Don’t make her be the only new face at the table.”

Dean’s face is open and eager, and Cas relents. “Alright, if you promise no one will mind. Thank you for the invitation. It’s very generous.”

“Generous? Nah. I just want to see your pretty face across the table.” He winks and Cas flushes. It doesn’t mean anything; Dean is just being charming. Cas wills himself to believe it.

*********

When Dean arrives at Mary’s on Sunday, piled down with the food he’s planning to prepare, Sam’s already there with his girlfriend, Madison, having driven up the night before.

“Heya, Sammy. Help me unload?”

“It’s Sam,” Sam says, even as he takes some of the dishes from Dean’s arms to carry into the kitchen. Dean follows him to drop off his share of the food, then pops back out to the Impala to grab a few more things.

“What’s this I hear about you bringing a date?” Sam teases, once all the food is properly stowed, as Dean drags him in for a manly, back-patting hug. “You haven’t brought anyone since the year you were with Lisa.” Dean and Lisa had dated briefly a few years back after her son, Ben, ended up on Dean’s tee-ball team. The relationship had fizzled out quietly, and as far as Dean knows, she's engaged to a local doctor, who seems like a good guy. He hadn’t seen much of her since Ben had graduated from the tee-ball league.

“Not a date,” he corrects. “A friend. Cas didn’t have a family meal to go to.” Belatedly, he holds out a hand to Madison. “Hi, I’m Dean, the better-looking brother.”

“I dunno,” Madison replies drily, shaking his hand. “I kinda like this one.” She takes her hand back to pat Sam on the arm.

“Well, hey, Sam’s a lucky guy.” Dean shoots her a pair of finger guns.

She laughs. “That was smooth.”

“Well, smooth’s Dean’s middle name.” Mary descends the stairs and wraps an arm around her eldest son, who makes a face at the teasing.

“Yeah, well,” he retorts, “Sam’s middle name’s Eugene.”

Bobby shows up around two with pumpkin pie and a tub of Cool Whip. He’d worked in the same department as John, and his late wife Karen had been good friends with Mary. Dean has vague memories of Karen from his childhood, before she got sick – sweet and smiling and always baking. Bobby, on the other hand, has been a concrete fixture in his life. Since Karen’s death, he’s had a standing invitation to all Winchester holiday meals, and there hasn’t been a holiday in years where his gruff presence didn’t grace their table.

“So,” he asks Sam, “What’s new in the wild world of copyright law?”

Sam takes the teasing with good humour. “It’s more wild than you might think. Someone’s tried to copyright the word ‘cocky.’ The whole romance writing world is up in arms about it.”[8]

“Oh, I’ve heard about that,” Bobby, who Dean thinks might secretly keep a stash of trashy paperbacks hidden in his house, snorts but nevertheless allows Sam to regale them with the – surprisingly entertaining – account.

“Man,” Dean laughs, “I have got to hear you read that brief in your lawyer voice. ‘The Cocky Werewolf’s Cocky Roomate.’ Priceless!”

Since Sam hasn’t seen Bobby in months, and Dean sees him weekly for the union drive, Dean leaves the two of them to catch up and takes the pie into the kitchen. Madison joins him to offer her help, but there’s nothing to do at the moment, so they end up making small talk until Mary joins them, wanting gossip from Madison about what Sam’s been up to in Montreal.

When Cas arrives, it’s with a casserole dish of honey-glazed carrots straight out of his garden. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes to Dean. “I drove to your house out of habit and had to backtrack to follow your directions.”

Dean takes the dish off his hands. “Don’t worry about it. The bird’s still got a little while to go in the oven. Everyone, this is Castiel. Cas, this is my mom, Mary, my brother, Sam, and his girlfriend, Madison. And you know this old man, of course.”

“Of course. Hello, Bobby.”

Bobby grunts. “Glad you could make it. This idjit’s been itching to see ya.” He indicates Dean with a jab of his thumb.

“And let me just pop this into the kitchen,” Dean offers, voice higher pitched than normal. He takes himself off around the corner before anyone can see his red face. “We’ll stick it in the oven in a bit to finish cooking,” he calls back, thankfully in his usual register.

He comes back into the room just in time to hear Sam ask, “So how do you two know each other? You don’t see a lot of new faces in Lawrence.”

“Cas is with the CNMU,” Dean answers for him. “He’s been leading our organizing drive.”

Sam’s mouth starts to purse, and Dean lifts a challenging eyebrow at him, daring him to say something.

Cas clears his throat. “Really, Dean and Bobby and the rest of the committee are leading the drive and they’re doing amazing things. I’m just there to provide direction and resources.”

Dean’s about to chide him for downplaying his role, but Sam cuts in, falsely light, “Well, I hope you’re not putting all the work on their shoulders.”

Bobby cuts him off. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Sam. Castiel pulls his weight just fine.”

Sam isn’t to be deterred. “And do you normally socialize like this with your clients? Isn’t it a little unprofessional?”

Dean sees Cas wince. “Clients isn’t really the word–” Cas starts awkwardly, and Dean leaps in to rescue him.

“Enough, Sam. It’s nice that you’re looking out for me, or whatever you think you’re doing, but all this union stuff aside, Cas is my _friend_. And I can damn well invite my friend to dinner without it being unprofessional, _capiche_?”

Sam relents. “Sorry, Dean.”

He crosses his arms across his chest. “I think you mean, ‘Sorry, Cas.’”

“Sorry, Castiel.” Sam offers his hand to Cas to shake.

“That’s alright.” Cas regards him seriously. “But please know I have no intention of imposing on Dean’s friendship.”

“Madison!” Dean says brightly, turning on her. He’s not sure what to make of Cas’s words and doesn’t want to think about what they might mean. Changing the subject seems safer. “Why don’t you tell me how you and Sam met?”

“Oh, we met through work, too. I’m a paralegal. Not for the same firm. But one of Sam’s clients had a meeting with one of my boss’s clients, and I thought, hey, he’s pretty cute.”

It seems they’d met a few times after that, and she tells a story about Sam fumbling through asking her out that has him blushing and looking like he regrets ever letting his brother and his girlfriend in the same room.

“But hey,” Dean says, throwing Sam a bone. “Obviously it worked. Good for you.”

With the mood lightened, Dean is called back to the kitchen by the tantalizing aroma of the roasting turkey. Cas follows him to offer his help, and Dean puts him to work setting the table while he puts Cas’s carrots in to finish cooking, then calls him over to stir the gravy while Dean mashes the potatoes. They move around each other easily, shoulders bumping gently as each dish finishes and they transfer them to covered serving bowls to keep warm.

Finally, Dean pops the pie in the now empty oven to warm, and everyone converges around Mary’s dining table, which is covered in a mouthwatering spread.

“I have an announcement to make,” Mary says, as they all settle in to eat. Her hands clench against each other, and her smile is shaky but there. “I’ve decided to start therapy.”

“That’s great, Mom,” Sam says, even as he glances swiftly at Madison as if to gauge her reaction. She’s not running for the hills, though, and his shoulders loosen a fraction.

“Yeah, that’s wonderful,” Dean echoes.

“Congratulations, Mary,” Bobby says, in his usual gruff tones. “Need a recommendation?”

“Wait. You’re telling me you’re in therapy?” Dean asks Bobby, stuffing falling unheeded from the serving spoon to his plate, as he adjusts his mental picture of the man.

“Course I am,” Bobby grunts. “Lost my wife; lost my legs. You think I don’t need someone to talk to?”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

“I was in therapy for a while after I was mugged a few years ago,” Madison offers. “It was very helpful and really put things in perspective. I dumped my possessive ex, changed my life. It was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“What’d I tell you? It works. Pamela Barnes,” Bobby tells Mary. “Real good at what she does, and you’ll like her style. I’ll give you her number later. Now pass me the potatoes, Dean.”

“You got it.” Dean hands over the bowl and takes up the gravy boat, drowning his plate.

Once all the serving dishes have finished being passed around, the conversation lapses, everyone too occupied with eating. By the middle of the meal, Mary has a look on her face as if despairing of the sheer number of napkins her sons manage to go through – even Sam, who has allowed himself only the smallest pool of gravy – but really, Dean thinks, she should just be grateful that their table manners have improved since their teenage years.

As they all begin to finish up, Mary asks Sam and Madison about Montreal, and Bobby chimes in with an anecdote about a trip he took there in the early seventies, which Dean has never heard before. Pleased, Dean looks around at his family, even Madison who seems to fit in well and temper his brother. His gaze slides to Cas beside him, and he can’t keep the smile off his face. Cas looks like he belongs here, with Dean’s family, eating Dean’s food, smiling at Dean in a way that feels private, intimate even.

It’s a good thing his mom has never been the type to make them go around and say what they’re grateful for, because if she asked right now, he’s sure he’d blurt out that he’s grateful for Cas, and that is a thing he’d never live down.

“Thank you,” Cas says in an undertone for Dean’s ears only, as the conversation goes on around them. “I’m grateful you’ve included me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 Canadian Thanksgiving is in October. [ return to text ]
> 
> 8 A romance writer actually has tried to copyright the word "cocky," although the incident took place in 2018, not 2013. If you're curious, google CockyGate. It's well worth reading about. [ return to text ]


	7. Chapter Six

The weekend after Thanksgiving is the last Moondoor meetup of the year, and between Charlie and Dean, they’ve convinced Cas to join them. They’ve each taken Friday as a vacation day, so Dean drives up to Cas’s house around noon, following the directions Cas had emailed him two days before.

Cas lives in a small, two-storey farmhouse at the end of a tree-lined gravel driveway, weather-beaten but not run-down. At this time of year, there’s not a lot growing, but there are still stands of tall grasses lending some colour, and sumac trees lining one side of the house. Along the other side and around into the backyard, Dean can see neatly divided garden beds and the edges of what might be a system of trellises, the whole vegetable garden already prepped for the cold weather to come. Charlie’s Gremlin is parked in the driveway behind Cas’s truck, and Dean smoothly parks the Impala behind them.

When Cas greets him at the door, he’s already got his bag slung over his shoulder.

“What, no tour?” Dean jokes.

Cas’s lips twitch. “Only if you want to face the wrath of Charlie. She seems quite impatient.”

“You’re late, Winchester,” Charlie chirps, emerging from the kitchen doorway, already in full garb. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Next time?” Cas offers with a rueful smile.

“I’m holding you to it.”

Dean leads the way back to his car and pops the trunk so that Charlie and Cas can stow their bags alongside the tent and his own stuff. He slides into the driver’s seat, and Charlie takes the back, while Cas retrieves his sleeping bag from his truck and crams it in with everything else.

“You often sleep in your truck?” Dean asks as Cas joins them, taking shotgun. “Doesn’t the union spring for hotels?”

Cas shrugs. “I got stranded once, organizing a mine up north. The truck broke down in the middle of nowhere, and I had to spend the night on the side of the road before I could get help. Thankfully, it was May, but it was still an uncomfortable night. The second I got home, I went out and bought the best cold-weather sleeping bag I could find, just in case.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to have it. Tents in October are for crazy people.” Dean flashes a grin at him as they pull onto the road. “Charlie and I like to suffer for our fun.”

Charlie makes a dismissive noise. “Ignore him. It’s totally worth it. Let’s work on your character.”

*********

The drive takes just over an hour, passed mostly by coming up with more and more elaborate backstory for Cas’s man-at-arms character. “Will this even come up?” he asks at one point, bemused. Before he knows it, they’re pulling into an unpaved parking lot, and piling out of the car to unload their bags. Most of the lot is still empty, but Charlie had insisted that, as Queen of Moons, it was her responsibility to arrive early.

A short path leads to an open area with scattered booths, some still in the process of being set up, and a large fire-pit, not yet lit, though a pyramid of wood has already been constructed. A skinny guy wanders by, playing what Cas thinks is a lute. He’s in costume, as is the curly-haired faerie maiden – he assumes that’s what she’s meant to be – at the sign-in booth with whom Charlie is flirting shamelessly, but most of the people Cas spies are still in their street clothes.

“Hey, Gilda,” Dean interrupts Charlie’s flirting. “Can Cas and I check in, and then we’ll let Charlie have you all to herself.” Charlie sticks her tongue out at Dean, and Gilda giggles, a light, airy sound.

“Of course.”

She signs Dean in quickly, and then Dean draws Cas forward with a hand on his shoulder. “Cas is new. He’s joining the Followers of the Moon.”

“No problem. I hope you have a good time.” She checks Cas in, as a few new groups of people arrive behind them. “It looks like I’m going to be busy for a bit,” she apologizes to Charlie. “But I’d like to catch up later.”

“I’ll take a raincheck,” Charlie agrees. She turns to Dean and Cas. “Guess I’m helping with the tent after all.”

“Come on, then, your highness.” Dean’s already headed towards a large banner that reads _Followers of the Moon_. There’s an open canopy that serves as the command centre, a communal fire-pit, and then an expanse of space for camping. The other factions appear to have similar setups with their own insignia marking their territories.

Between the three of them, they get the tent set up without much trouble and stow their bags inside.

“Ready to get dressed up, Cas?” Dean asks, rummaging through his bag, and emerging with two sets of clothes. “Here’s yours.” He passes one set over to Cas. “And here’s mine. I’ve got armour for us both, too.”

“Annnnd that’s my cue to vacate,” Charlie announces. “Come visit me in command when you’re ready.” She disappears with a wink and a flash of red hair.

Once the tent flap falls closed behind her, Dean doesn’t hesitate in stripping off his shirt, shivering a little in the cool fall air. Cas averts his eyes, but not before getting an eyeful of invitingly freckled skin.

“Thank you for loaning me a costume,” he says, as he begins unbuttoning his own shirt. He feels a tingle of awareness, and when he looks up, Dean has finished pulling on a rust-coloured tunic and his eyes seem to be glued to Cas’s chest. Cas can’t be sure if the goosebumps he feels are from the temperature or the memory of Dean’s gaze.

Caught, Dean looks away hastily and clears his throat, pink rising on his cheeks and making him even more attractive to Cas’s gaze. “No problem. No point in buying garb until you know if you want to keep doing this, and we’re about the same size. But, uh,” his fingers go to the button of his jeans, and Cas’s breath catches, “I’m gonna change out of these now, so you might want to turn around.”

“Right.” The tips of Cas’s ears burn, and he turns his back.

Finally, they emerge from the tent fully dressed in leather jerkins and maile, with swords strapped to their sides. Dean’s outfit is in shades of russet and brown, Cas’s in blue and tan. Cas tries hard not to remember the way Dean had insisted on helping with his armour, or the proximity of his body and weight of his hands as he had attached the sword belt, smoothing it to sit properly over Cas’s hips. It’s a losing battle. More people have arrived while they were changing and are now setting up their tents. Dean waves, but doesn’t slow their pace, as they make their way back to command to meet their queen.

In the time they took to change, the canopied command centre for the Followers of the Moon has been festooned with more red and gold fabric. Charlie is in her element, playfully lording it over her subjects. She looks convincingly regal in the heavy wooden throne that denotes her rank – built by Dean for her last birthday, as Cas had learned on the ride up. She greets the newcomers ahead of them, then turns her gaze on Dean and Cas.

Dean bows deeply when they approach her throne, and a moment later Cas does the same.

“Ah,” she says in her best royal tones. “My faithful handmaiden and Sir Emmanuel of Haven, my new man-at-arms. Sir Emmanuel, please step forward.”

Cas does, and Charlie rises from her throne, presenting a small metal object, which she fastens to the short cloak he wears. “This cloak pin symbolizes the commitment you have made to the Followers of the Moon. Wear it with pride and wear it with honour.”

“Thank you, my Queen.” Cas bows again and backs up.

“As man-at-arms, you will be attached to my personal retinue. For now, however, I assign my handmaiden to acquaint you with our Queendom and with the land of Moondoor. Handmaiden, see to it that he enjoys himself.” She winks at Dean.

Thus dismissed, Dean shows Cas around the site, introducing him to the people he knows and letting him check out the various informal activities that are available for the first day. There’s an archery range set up out of the way, but also demonstrations and lessons on stage combat and footwork, a few booths offering jewellery, leatherwork and other crafts suitable for the setting, and of course a large booth dressed up as a pub and selling food.

That’s the one they head to as twilight starts to fall. After wandering around, they had taken part in one of the combat lessons, at Cas’s request. He could tell Dean was familiar with what they were learning from his years of LARP experience, but that hadn’t seemed to get in the way of his enjoyment, and they’d ended up as out of breath from laughter as from the actual fighting. Later, they’d been waylaid by the lute-player Cas had spied earlier, a friend of Dean’s, who’d introduced himself in character as Fizzini. In the course of their conversation, Cas had learned that his real name was Garth, that he was a dentist, and that he was a hugger. Dean had taken the bear hug he received in greeting in stride, clapping Garth enthusiastically on the back. Cas, on the other hand, had been surprised, yet grateful, to be given the same treatment when they’d parted ways to get dinner.

With their plates loaded with savoury-smelling food, Dean and Cas make their way over to their faction’s fire-pit, where a cheerful blaze has been built up, and Cas gets a seat of honour beside the Queen. Later, their bellies full, the various factions gather around the central bonfire to drink and hang out. Cas can’t decide if the sing-along that breaks out at Garth’s lead is impromptu or not, but Dean’s voice in his ear, rough and slightly off-key, tinged with laughter, warms him more thoroughly than the honeyed mead Charlie brought to share. He stores the feeling away as the three of them pile into their tent to sleep. Maybe he can’t act on his feelings for Dean, but he can hold on to them like a precious secret.

Saturday’s main event, the battle of the realms, might be a glorified game of capture the flag (in this case, capture the holy relic), but there are sword fights and spell “bombs” and several dramatically acted deaths. Cas, fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean and Charlie enjoys himself immensely, even when an attempt to throw himself in front of a sword meant for Dean ends with him sprawled unceremoniously on the ground. Dean dispatches his attacker quickly, and reaches Cas in two strides, offering him a hand up.

“Sir Emmanuel,” he declares, “you have saved my life, and for that you have my undying gratitude.”

They clasp hands for a long moment, before a new wave of opponents separates them.

Before the battle, Charlie had summoned her inner circle, including Dean and Cas for an intensive strategy session, and Cas is pleased to see several of his suggestions go off without a hitch. Amongst cheers of victory, the Followers of the Moon rightly carry the day.

Muddy and exhausted, but upbeat, everyone troops back to their tents to clean up before their victory feast. It feels good to remove the layers of armour, and grateful, Cas rolls his shoulders and stretches out the stiffness from where he fell. Dean has another outfit to loan him for the feast, and he and Charlie show Cas how to clean his armour to keep it nice.

The feast is hearty and filling, and there is much toasting and revelry. Dean enters into the spirit of things, standing on a log to make a speech that starts off about friendship and honour, but devolves into something that Cas thinks might be quoting from a movie. He glances over at Charlie, but she just offers an eloquent shrug. He beams at Dean as Dean resumes his seat.

Charlie, for her part, has evidently found time for flirting in between her queenly duties, because eventually she lets herself be dragged off to Gilda’s tent to “celebrate,” flashing a Vulcan salute at Dean and Cas.

“Peace out, bitches.” She tosses her hair with a grin.

*********

Charlie doesn’t return from Gilda’s tent to sleep. Without her there, the tent should feel bigger, but it doesn’t. Instead, Dean is acutely aware of Cas lying beside him, his ears picking up every rustle of his sleeping bag that suggests he’s awake, too.

He’s always aware of Cas, of course, but that’s not what’s keeping him awake late into the night - or not entirely, anyway. The fact is, he’s cold. The temperature had started dropping rapidly at sunset, and even Dean’s thermal pyjamas and cold-weather sleeping bag can’t quite cut the chill. Cas is probably in the same boat.

If Dean spends a little longer than he should debating his course of action, it’s because he doesn’t want to weird Cas out. But warmth is a practical matter, and so is sleep. It’s not like he’s coming on to him, he promises himself. Cas will understand.

“You cold, too?” he asks in an undertone before he can think better of it.

Cas’s voice is low and gritty with exhaustion from the long day and the lack of sleep. “It is a bit chilly.”

Dean turns onto his side, facing him. “We could, uh, we could share sleeping bags. To keep warm, I mean.” _Way to go, Dean. Great job not sounding like a teenager with a crush._

There is a long pause, and Dean holds his breath, wondering what Cas is thinking. Has he seen right through Dean? It’s too dark to make out the expression on his face. Finally, Dean can take it no longer and blurts out, “I promise not to grope you in my sleep.” Cas makes a choking noise, and Dean cringes. _Christ, Dean,_ he thinks, _get a grip._

“That, uh, that was not a concern,” Cas says in a strained tone. “I– Alright. Sharing body heat does sound practical.”

Practical is the last thing Dean feels, but he keeps that to himself as he zips their sleeping bags together.

It’s close quarters inside the cozy cocoon, and no matter how Dean shifts he can’t avoid touching Cas. On the bright side, it begins warming up almost immediately.

“Sorry,” Dean whispers, yet again, as Cas sucks in an audible breath when Dean’s hand accidentally brushes over his hip. _Don’t think about his hips_ , he reminds himself.

Cas makes a grumbly noise of the very tired and grabs Dean’s arm, rolling onto his side and tugging Dean up against his back, tucking Dean’s arm in against his stomach. They’re spooning, Dean realizes with a rush of giddyness and terror.

“This okay?” he asks, holding his breath for the answer.

“Sleep, Dean,” Cas mumbles. “We’ll worry about it in the morning.”

Dean’s not sure how he’s meant to sleep with the solid length of Cas’s body pressed up against his, but between the action of the day and the comfortable warmth of their shared body heat, he does eventually drift off.

When he wakes, the sun is coming up, and Cas is fumbling urgently at the zipper of the sleeping bags. “Whu?” Dean asks, blinking sleepy eyes.

“It’s warmer now,” Cas says. “I thought I should–”

“Nuh,” Still in a sleep haze, Dean tugs him back down. “S’early. Sleep now.”

“Alright,” Cas sighs against Dean’s chest. It’s nice, even if he does sound troubled. “I’ll go back to sleep.” Cas’s hair is tickling his chin. He smiles and drifts off again.


	8. Chapter Seven

The next Saturday after their LARP adventures, the organizing committee holds a demonstration in the downtown square. Donna and Linda had been in charge of the planning, and the event kicks off with Linda giving a rousing speech about the working conditions at Roman Mills and Kevin’s injury. The committee members who aren’t scheduled to make speeches circulate through the crowd, distributing informational leaflets, with cards on hand in case anyone wants to sign here and now. It’s a chilly day with a brisk wind, but the energy is high.

Dean catches Cas’s eye across the square and winks, as Benny gives a short speech in French that ends with the chant of “So-so-so-solidarité!” being taken up by the French-speakers and even some of the anglophones in the crowd. Benny hands the mic over to Bobby, who wheels his way onto the low platform with the help of the ramp borrowed from Dean’s house. He’s cleaned up nice for the occasion and has lost his constant dirty trucker cap.

“I see you all looking at my wheelchair,” he begins, “and thinking, ‘He can’t possibly work for Roman Mills.’ And I don't. Not anymore.

“Most of you recall the accident in 2008 that killed John Winchester. Many of you were at his funeral. I wasn’t, despite years of friendship with him and his family, because I was in the hospital, recovering from that same accident. And as you can see, I lost something that I can’t get back.

“In the weeks before the accident, several of us, John’s son Dean and myself included, reported hazards and were ignored. We in this country have the right to refuse unsafe work, but management threatened to fire us anyway, and we couldn’t afford to be out of a job, so we complied. And look what it cost us. If we had had the strength of a union behind us, we could have fought those illegal threats and averted a tragedy. But no individual on their own has the means to take on a leviathan like Roman Enterprises.

“It’s been five years since Roman Enterprises put me in this chair, and the accidents have not stopped. That’s why I’m urging you to join Northern Miners United. They will fight for you and support you in fighting for yourselves. I never had the opportunity, but you do now and you deserve better than to have your lives considered nothing more than the cost of doing business.

“Remember, you have the right to come home alive. You have the right to come home in one piece.”

Bobby finishes speaking to the sound of applause. As Dean wolf-whistles he spots his mother near the front of the crowd, her gloves tucked under her elbow so she can clap louder. Bobby reaches her before Dean does, and he watches her clasp Bobby’s hand and sees the tentative, almost bashful smiles they exchange. _Now that’s an interesting development_ , he thinks.

He joins them in a few strides, clapping Bobby on the back. “Nice speech, old man.” He grins. “Heya, Mom. I didn’t know you were coming.”

Mary beams at him. “Of course I came. And look at how many people showed up! This is wonderful. Oh, I’m so proud of you and I’m so glad you have so much support. All I want is for you to feel supported.” Her eyes well up, and she swipes at them with the back of her hand. “Sorry,” she sniffles. “I just came from therapy. I’m very emotional right now.”

“Don’t feel too bad about it, Mary.” Bobby pats her hand. “I bawled like a baby after my first few sessions with Pamela.” He points a finger at Dean. “Don’t you grin at me like that, boy. Ought to put _your_ ass in therapy. Do something about your self-esteem.”

Dean yelps.“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with my self-esteem!”

“Oh yeah?” Bobby challenges, a knowing gleam in his eye. “That why you haven’t asked our friendly neighbourhood union rep out yet?”

Dean can only gape at him, unable to defend himself.

“Yeah.” Bobby nods as if that’s all the evidence he needs. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s what you thought about what?” Cas asks, joining their little group. “Hello, Bobby. That was a very inspirational speech. Mary, it’s lovely to see you again.” He shakes her hand and turns to Dean with a smile in his eyes that seems reserved just for him. “Hello, Dean.”

*********

Cas has been wondering, since he woke for the second time with his face pressed to Dean’s chest, and Dean’s arms tight around him, if perhaps his feelings are reciprocated after all. Nothing had been said after they’d extricated themselves from the sleeping bags, but there was something about the soft look in Dean’s eyes and the way his hand had found Cas’s shoulder, and once, his lower back, as they worked together to pack their belongings and take down their tent.

There was something, too, about the way Dean had looked at him at the rally yesterday. He’d been blushing over something Bobby had said when Cas approached, his sheepish expression all too endearing, but the smile he’d bestowed on Cas as he’d recovered from his embarrassment had been like the sun. They’d had to split up, so that Cas could answer questions about the union from several curious passersby who had seen the crowd and stopped to listen to the speeches, but Dean had made a point of finding Cas again before they dispersed and startling him by hugging him goodbye. Cas can still feel the squeeze of Dean’s strong arms in his bones.

He hums as he prepares himself meals for the week.

He still won’t allow himself to act on it, of course, especially if he’s not a hundred percent sure of Dean’s feelings. But it’s a pleasant thought, nonetheless.

 _But if Dean were to make a move–_ a treacherous part of his mind suggests.

Would it be acceptable if Dean made the first move? He wouldn’t want to influence him in any way. But if it were truly Dean’s choice...

*********

**November 2013**

With their numbers edging up, and the possibility of a vote coming into sight, the organizing committee plans to go leafleting the first weekend of November to nab more supporters. Naturally, the skies open up and dump several inches of snow on them. A few brave souls show up anyway and they pair off to hit different neighbourhoods.

Dean and Cas end up together, both bundled up against the cold. They’re in Dean’s neck of the woods, actually, not far from his house, and he’s already determined that he’s going to invite Cas in for hot chocolate when they’re done. Bobby’s words have been on repeat in his mind since last weekend, and he has very nearly convinced himself that he should act on his feelings after all, as long as his courage doesn’t fail him.

They’ve got their route all mapped out and are planning on hitting up the houses together, even though that will take longer than splitting up. They luck out with the first house, and Daniel Elkins signs a card on the spot. “I’ve had it up to here with those bloodsuckers,” he mutters, as he signs his name with a flourish.

Things don’t go so well at their second stop. No sooner has the word union crossed Dean’s lips, than Christian Campbell slams the door in their faces.

“Jeeze,” Dean complains, nursing his wounded dignity, as they make their way back down the driveway. “Can you believe I’m related to that asshole?”

Cas glances at him with a half smile. “My condolences.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well, all the Campbells are dicks, anyway.”

They spend the afternoon making their way through the rest of the list, without any further drama. There’s no one home at the last house, so they leave the flyer in the mailbox and hurry back down the steps, stomping their feet against the tingling cold that’s starting to set in. Cas turns towards downtown where he left his car, but Dean stops him and points to a wooden park sign just past the next block.

“Don’t head out yet, man. We cut through that park, and it’s just five minutes back to my place. Come have a hot drink with me, and I’ll give you a lift back to your car later. If you’re lucky, I’ll even spike the hot chocolate.” He winks, and Cas laughs, a low, full-throated sound that sends warm thrills through Dean’s body and spurs him to action.

Without quite knowing what he’s doing, but knowing it feels right, he pulls Cas in towards him, cupping a hand against his cheek and kissing him soundly. Cas sighs and melts against him, and they lose themselves in each other for a long moment.

Finally, Cas pulls back from the kiss, lips slick and cheeks flushed. His hair is impossibly mussed where his toque was knocked backward into a snowdrift. The last of the leaflets are crumpled in his hands. He’s an absolute mess, and Dean loves it.

“Dean.” Cas breathes heavily, putting distance between them. “I want to make it absolutely clear that my support for your organizing drive is in no way dependent upon your receptivity to my advances.”

“Cas.” Dean steps very deliberately back into Cas’s space and cups his gloved hands over his ears. “One, you’re gonna get frostbite. And two, I came on to you, dumbass.”

“I–” Cas ducks out of his reach to retrieve his hat and sets about brushing it dry, looking conflicted.

Dean gently takes the toque from him and slaps it against his denim-clad thigh to dislodge the last of the snow. “Dude. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, but I like you. I promise you are not taking advantage of the situation. If anyone asks, I can say you’ve been completely professional. But if you want–” he spreads his hands and holds out the hat. He’s holding his breath, too. For all his casual words, this connection he feels to Cas is profound, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch if Cas turns him down.

“I–” Cas falters again, clearly wanting to be convinced by Dean’s words. Finally, something resolute passes over his features, and his lips twitch upwards into a smile. “I would like that. But perhaps we should take this indoors.”

By the time they reach Dean’s house, neither of them can keep the grins off their faces. Despite his earlier hesitation, Cas is already shedding his scarf and gloves as Dean unlocks the door. They both sigh with relief to step inside the warm entry, and Dean loses no time in removing his own layers and getting his hands on Cas’s cheeks, drawing him into another kiss.

They kiss leisurely in the entryway, hindered only by the smiles on their faces. This time, Dean is the first to draw back.

“I think I promised you hot chocolate.” He holds out a hand, gratified when Cas takes it, leading them both into the kitchen.

Later they kiss again, mouths tasting of chocolate and the generous splash of rum Dean had added to the drinks. He persuades Cas to stay and they wind up on the couch, making out as an episode of American Pickers fades into a marathon of some homesteading show.

“These shows always make me want to pack up and live in the woods,” Dean remarks when they both take a breather. He runs a hand through Cas’s dishevelled hair. “Live off the land, you know?”

Cas chuckles against his shoulder. “I know what you mean. I’ve got my garden, but every time I watch one of these, I start thinking about getting chickens. Or bees. I have to remind myself that I travel too much for work.”

Their mouths meet again.

Dean lets his fingers tickle the hair at the back of Cas’s neck, amazed by how comfortable this feels. Not that he isn’t turned on by the slow slide of their mouths against each other, but he’s not feeling any urgency, like he knows they’ll have all the time in the world to turn this into sex. And yeah, he’s more than a little thrilled at the thought of getting his hands all over Cas’s naked body, but for now, this is what he wants, the intimacy of curling together and talking and laughing and kissing. Cas is nibbling his way up Dean’s neck. His dick is a dull ache of want in his jeans, but he ignores it, because this moment is perfect just like this.


	9. Chapter Eight

Cas does eventually have to drive home that night, and Dean spends Sunday with his mom, but they both have Monday night free, and Cas invites him to his place.

Cas greets him with a kiss and gives him the tour that Charlie prevented last time. Dean likes Cas’s house immediately. None of the rooms are large, but they’re full of comfortably aging furniture, natural wood, and plants everywhere, and the faded white clapboard walls make the whole place seem bright and cozy.

Dinner is homemade pizza that they assemble together, with an excess of hip-bumping and laughter. At one point Dean has to physically restrain himself from licking a smear of pizza sauce off Cas’s cheek. He hands him a paper towel instead, but it’s a close thing. They eat at Cas’s beat up wooden table, socked feet tangling together, exchanging shy smiles.

Dean insists on doing the dishes, even though Cas swears he’ll wash them once Dean goes home. There’s no swaying him, though, so he grabs a towel to dry while Dean washes. As he sets the last plate away, Dean tugs him in by his belt loops.

“This okay?” he asks, eyes bright and sincere. His hands are firm and warm against Cas’s hips, and Cas refuses to have doubts.

“Yes, he rasps. “Dean, kiss me.”

Dean does, with satisfying thoroughness. Cas’s head is spinning when he pulls away. “How was that?” he asks with a cheeky grin, though Cas is surprised to see insecurity in the slight tightening around his eyes.

He licks his lips. “It was perfect. Again?”

This time when Dean’s lips cover his, Cas surges into him, gripping his neck, and licking hungrily into his mouth. They kiss greedily, lost in each other.

Cas can feel himself hardening in his jeans, and Dean is in a similar state, he discovers when he rolls their hips together. Dean groans, low and dark, and then there’s a thud as he does it again, the fridge – which he belatedly realizes he’s pushed Dean up against – rocking backwards with the force of their movement.

They break apart, staring at each other in surprise, and Castiel dissolves into helpless snickers, burying his face against Dean’s shoulder. Dean wraps solid arms around him and chuckles into his hair. “Whoops,” he says, so casually that it sets Cas off again.

Finally, Cas regains control of himself and steps back a respectable distance. “Sorry. I got a little over-enthusiastic.” The tips of his ears are burning.

“Never apologize for that, sweetheart,” Dean says with a cheesy wink, and Cas shakes his head at him.

“Maybe we should relocate? Bedroom?”

“Lead the way.”

Once in the bedroom, Dean cocks an eyebrow at him and grasps the hem of his shirt. Cas nods, eyes glued to him, and with a smirk, Dean starts inching it up. It’s when Dean pulls the shirt over his head that Cas spies _it_. He has to bite his lip, but can’t quite stop his nose from scrunching up in amusement.

“Not quite the reaction I was hoping for,” Dean comments drily, emerging from the fabric just in time to catch Cas’s expression.

“Sorry.” Cas gestures helplessly to the tattoo on Dean’s flank. “It’s just, Charlie told me she didn’t know if you’d gone through with that.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean grins, and twists so Cas can get a better look. Han Solo is dressed in just the iconic vest and a pair of booty shorts, and is indeed straddling a twenty-sided die. Dean bounces his eyebrows at him. “You like it?”

“It’s, ah, certainly something.” The tattoo draws the eye, but Cas is equally interested in the shift of muscles under Dean’s skin. They’re not sharply defined, but Dean’s body is solid, strong, hard-working. He can’t resist reaching out a hand to drag over Dean’s side, fingers brushing the tattoo.

“We were, ah, really drunk,” Dean says, hissing as Cas’s hands find a sensitive spot. “Kind of surprised they agreed to work on us, actually.”

“Mhm.” Cas applies his lips to Dean’s collarbone, and Dean gasps.

“Wait.” He backs Cas up a pace so he can tug Cas’s shirt off, too. “You mean, Charlie told you about this tattoo, and you still thought I might be straight?” He tugs Cas in for a kiss before he can answer and grins against his lips as he finds the button to Cas’s jeans and pops it open.

“You’re doing an excellent job of convincing me otherwise,” Cas manages breathlessly as Dean lowers his zipper. Obligingly, he steps out of the jeans Dean slides down his hips.

“God, look at you,” Dean murmurs, raking his eyes down Cas’s nearly bare body. “I’m getting less straight by the second.”

“Good.” Cas reels him in by the waistband of his jeans and slides their mouths together once more. “Bed?”

*********

“That was awesome.” Dean turns his head to grin at Cas as they lie side-by-side, sweaty and loose-limbed. There’s a spot on Cas’s collarbone that he still wants to taste, but he’s too comfortable to move.

Cas must feel the same way, because his response is a contented hum, rolling his head over to face Dean with soft, smiling eyes. Clumsily, he twines their fingers together, and Dean gives them a squeeze. “It was awesome,” he agrees.

“Not very professional, though,” Dean teases and immediately wishes he hadn’t when Cas’s brow creases.

“Dean, don’t joke about that.”

“Sorry. C’mere.” Dean tugs him in by their linked hands until Cas rolls towards him, and he can kiss away the frown lines from his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Mmm. You’re forgiven.” Cas lays his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean wraps an arm around him. He can see the bedside clock out of the corner of his eye and knows he’ll have to leave soon if he wants any sleep before he has to work in the morning, but for as long as he can, he’s happy to lie here, surrounded by Cas.

*********

They don’t get a chance to see each other again until Friday, but Dean leaves work Tuesday to find an emoticon-laden text waiting for him, asking about his day. It’s ridiculous, but somehow still so adorable he can’t keep the smile off his face. They spend the next few evenings texting whenever they get a chance, and Dean takes to calling Cas before bed to wish him goodnight. It’s sappy as all get out, but Cas seems to appreciate it, so Dean cuts himself a bit of slack.

Friday, Cas shows up for the committee meeting with an overnight bag. Waking up with an armful of Cas was wonderful even when dressed in thermal pyjamas and sleeping in a tent, but doing so on his own memory foam mattress, while Cas wears nothing but the boxers he pulled back on right before falling asleep, might just be heaven. Not to mention, Dean’s allowed to touch now, which he takes full advantage of, waking Cas up with a series of hot, wet kisses to his throat.

“Dean?” Cas cracks his eyes open, his voice a sleepy rasp.

“Morning, Sunshine.” Dean punctuates his words with a nip to Cas’s jaw. “Want me to get up and make you coffee?”

Cas grasps Dean’s hip in a bruising grip. “Don’t you dare.”

They do eventually get up for coffee after Dean finishes what he started and they sip it in the kitchen, Cas in a t-shirt and his boxers and Dean in a fluffy gray robe.

“Sure you aren’t cold?” Dean asks, and even though Cas insists he’s fine, Dean wraps his arms around him from behind, hooking his chin over Cas’s shoulder. “Better?”

Cas snuggles back into him. “Much.”

For once, there’s nothing planned for the weekend, so they spend it lounging around Dean’s house, not bothering to get dressed. A substantial number of hours are spent making out on the couch like teenagers. Dean has never thought to apply the word enamoured to himself before, but when the light from the window catches Cas’s smile just right, he knows he is.

*********

Cas comes over the next weekend, too, though this time they manage to put on clothes long enough for Dean to drag Cas out Christmas shopping.

“Isn’t it a little early?” Cas asks. Since he no longer speaks to his family, he doesn’t have anyone to buy for, apart from Charlie and Dean himself.

Dean shrugs. “I’d rather get it out of the way now. Besides, I’ve got to ship Sam’s this year, since he’s going to Madison’s parents instead of coming home.”

They park the Impala in the downtown parking lot and walk hand in hand down the snowy streets.

“Where to, first?” Cas asks, perfectly content to wander like this with Dean for the foreseeable future, but also realizing that that would be impractical. When the wind picks up, stinging their cheeks red, he decides that it really might be nicer to get inside.

“This way.” Dean steers him towards a festive display window. “Bookstore. One stop shopping for Sam, Charlie and Bobby.”

“What about you?” Cas asks as they step inside, fishing for gift ideas. “Is there anything here you’d be into?”

“I’m into you,” Dean deflects.

Cas rolls his eyes fondly. “I can’t give you a Christmas gift you already have. Seriously, are there any books you’d like to get.”

“C’mon Cas,” Dean rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “Do I seem like the kind of guy people buy books for?”

Cas nudges him with a shoulder, not about to let Dean fall into a hole of self-deprecation. “I’ve seen your bookcase,” he reminds him, “so I’m going to say yes.” He follows it up with a kiss on the cheek, just because he can.

“Oh, come on.” Despite his complaint, Dean looks pleased, and Cas congratulates himself for a job well done. “You can’t shop for me while I’m here, anyway, so come help me pick something out for Bobby.”

*********

Mary calls Wednesday evening to invite Dean for Sunday. “It’s been weeks,” she says, and Dean counts back, cringing when he realizes she’s right.

“Shit. And I’ve made plans with Cas this weekend.” He chews on his lip, guilty at the thought of turning his mom down, but not wanting to cancel on Cas, especially when it’s his turn to drive out to Cas’s place. “We’ve, uh, been seeing each other,” he explains.

“Bring him,” she says. “Bobby will be there.” She pauses. “We’ve been, well, seeing each other, too.”

Dean chuckles. “Well, this should be an awkward meal.”

His mother’s voice is tense when she asks, “Are you uncomfortable with me dating Bobby? Because–”

Dean interrupts her, before she can worry too much. “I’m fine with it. You can date whoever you want. But he’d better make you happy.”

“Dean,” she says wryly, “I have clinical depression.”

It startles a laugh out of him, despite himself. “Sorry,” he says, wincing. “That wasn’t meant to be funny.”

“Yes it was,” she counters. “I’ve got to joke about it, right?”

Dean chuckles. “Hey, whatever works.” There’s something freeing in being able to acknowledge the elephant that has always been in the room. “Bobby treating you right?”

“Like the most gentlemanly of grizzly bears.” Dean can hear the smile in her voice even over the phone. “Did you know he speaks Japanese? He showed me a translation he’s working on, of erotic–”

Dean yelps. “Stop right there. I do not _ever_ need to hear you say the word ‘erotic’ again.”

He can picture his mother’s wicked grin. “I’m teasing you honey. Don’t worry, Bobby’s being good to me. Is Cas being good to you?”

A shy grin creeps onto Dean’s face. “Yeah, Mom. He’s good to me. He makes me happy.”

*********

According to plan, Dean drives up to Cas’s on Friday evening, and Sunday they head to Mary’s in separate cars so Cas can go home after.

“Well, aren’t you two adorable,” Dean greets Mary and Bobby with a shit-eating grin.

Bobby harrumphs, looking at Dean and Cas’s clasped hands. “Good to see you two idjits got your heads outta your asses,” he retorts.

Mary exchanges a commiserating look with Cas. “It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry to interrupt your weekend together.”

“And I’m sorry for monopolizing your son.”

“You two talking about me?” Dean asks, swinging a companionable arm around Cas’s shoulders. “C’mon with me. Gonna need my sous-chef if I’m gonna feed us tonight.”

Ruefully, Cas lets himself be pulled into the kitchen.

“Didn’t want Mom to give you the shovel speech,” Dean informs him once they’re out of earshot.

“Would she do that?” Cas asks, curious.

Dean chuckles as he digs into the fridge. “I have no idea. She keeps surprising me lately. She could totally take you, though. Mom’s tougher than she looks.”

Cas bites back a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. What are we making?”

They get to work, and within a few minutes, Mary and Bobby rejoin them in the kitchen. Despite Dean’s claim on Cas as his assistant, there’s not a lot that Cas can help with, so he finds himself at the table with them, giving an update on the union situation. They’re close to their goal, and he’s optimistic that they’ll be able to go to the vote within the month.

From there, Cas and Bobby segue into a lively discussion of labour history in the region, and Cas looks up, feeling Dean’s eyes on him. Dean’s gazing at him with a mixture of pride and something Cas can’t quite put his finger on. He tilts his head in question, and Dean crosses the room to give him a smacking kiss.

“Jesus,” Dean says, “you’re so smart.”

Cas blushes, but Bobby asks drily, “I’m smart, too. You gonna kiss me like that?” breaking the tension.

Dean flushes but chuckles. “Why don’t you ask my mom for that, old man?”

Mary simply raises an eyebrow at Dean and plants one on Bobby.

Cas’s lips tilt up at the gobsmacked look on Dean’s face. “Dean,” he nudges him, as a pot boils over with a hiss, “the food.”

Dean rushes to deal with the mess, and Cas can’t help watching him with a fond smile. He sighs, thoroughly smitten, and Mary catches his eye.

“I know that look. You be good to my boy.”

“Of course,” Cas promises.


	10. Chapter Nine

Dean arrives to work Monday to find Edgar Levi, the head of management, waiting by his station.

“Winchester,” he says with no preamble. “Come to my office.” He turns on his heel, and Dean follows him, feeling wrong-footed.

His perturbation only increases when they arrive in Edgar’s office to be met by Joyce Bicklebee, the head of HR, who is already waiting.

“Have a seat,” Edgar tells him, gesturing to the remaining guest chair, while he himself takes the imposing leather desk chair. “Joyce, would you like to begin?”

Joyce’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Mr. Winchester, we at Roman Mills are like a family. When there is a threat to that family–”

Edgar interrupts. “We are not unaware that Northern Miners United has been attempting to interfere with our operations here at Roman Mills. It has come to our attention that you are the one who invited them, and that you have been the ringleader for the group of–”

“–Rabble-rousers within the plant,” Joyce picks up smoothly. “We have been understanding with your raising of unnecessary health and safety concerns, because of your father’s tragic accident, but this has crossed a line.”

“Which is why you’re fired,” Edgar finishes, looking smug.

“Which is why we’re letting you go,” Joyce corrects.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you can’t do that,” Dean replies flatly. Cas had been very firm on making sure they all understood their rights.

“And yet we just did,” Edgar says, and Dean wants to punch him in the face.

“There will be a severance package, of course, provided you take this dismissal peacefully,” Joyce says, all smiles. “We want this to be a pleasant transition.”

Dean gathers himself. “I want it in writing. That you’ve fired me. The severance package. The reasons why.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Joyce says, with that plastic smile still fixed on her face. “And our time is up. Shall we have security escort you out?”

Dean grits his teeth and gets to his feet. “Oh, I’ll show myself out, but don’t think for a second that I won’t fight this and that the union won’t have my back.”

He’s seething as he pushes his way out the plant’s doors, blinking against the brightness of the sun on the snow. He shoves his gloves into his pockets and dials Cas’s number with angry fingers.

“They fired me,” he says, right over top of Cas’s warm, “Hello, Dean,” then repeats himself when Cas demands, “What?”

“They straight up told me it was because I called in the union,” he says, as he stomps across the parking lot, “but they wouldn’t put it in writing. Threatened to call security on me.”

“Dean,” Cas says, sounding agonized. “I am so, so sorry about this. We’ll get to work on contesting this right away.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Dean lets out a humourless chuckle. “Can’t be legal, right?”

“It’s not,” Cas confirms. Tone turning business-like, he asks, “Can you do me a favour? Write down everything that was said, verbatim if you can remember, and sign and date it. I’m going to talk to our lawyers right now.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Just listening to his voice has soothed Dean already, and he has faith that Cas will fight for him every step of the way. He fishes out his keys and unlocks the Impala. “Maybe you can come for dinner tonight? Get my mind off things?”

There’s a long pause. Finally, Cas answers in a strange, strained tone, “I’d better not. I want to make as much headway as possible on your case. Scan and email me your notes when you’re done, please.”

Dean swallows against a sense of foreboding. “Sure thing, Cas.”

There’s another long, uncomfortable pause. “I’d better go. I’m sorry, Dean.”

*********

Cas hangs up the phone and stares blankly at his computer screen. How could this happen? How could he have _let_ this happen?

Dean’s been fired because of him.

No, the rational part of his mind protests, Dean’s been fired because Roman Enterprises are greedy union-busters with no respect for the law.

It doesn’t help.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, counting to ten. Then he gets to his feet and goes to find the lawyers. He can do that much, for Dean.

*********

Dean emails Cas his notes but gets no reply. He waits until the next evening to call, in case Cas really is that busy with his case or with the ongoing organizing efforts, but his call rings through to voicemail. He leaves a message, and when he doesn’t hear back from Cas by the end of the night, sends him a quick text at bedtime.

 _Hey sweetheart,_ it reads. _I’d really like to talk to you. Call me?_

It’s weird being home on a weekday when he’s not sick. He putters around the house and all but pounces on his phone the second it rings.

It’s not Cas.

Instead, a woman’s voice asks, “Is this Dean Winchester?” When he confirms that it is, she goes on, “My name is Hannah Johnson, and I’m calling from the CNMU. I’m the support staff for the Organizing department. Castiel Novak asked me to get in touch with you about your wrongful dismissal.”

She keeps him on the phone for a good forty-five minutes, getting as much of the story as she can from him and answering his questions. When they finally hang up, Dean shoots off a text to Cas.

 _Why did I just talk to your secretary and not you? Call me, please._ For good measure, he leaves a voicemail, too.

He speaks to Hannah again the next day, and she assures him that the union’s lawyers have already filed a complaint with the labour board. There’s still no word from Cas, and the voicemail he leaves is curt and irritated.

He ends up spending most of the day on the couch, idly flipping through channels. Shortly after he would usually get home for the day, his mother calls to ask about getting together for dinner Sunday.

“Bring Castiel, if you like,” she tells him, and so he has to explain to her everything that’s happened and that Cas won’t answer his damn phone. Her “I’m sorry, sweetie” does little to help.

Friday afternoon, Hannah calls him to let him know that there will be a hearing in Sudbury on Wednesday that he will need to attend, and that one of the lawyers will call him on Monday. After, he gets spectacularly drunk, calls Cas and unsurprisingly gets his voicemail. He laughs bitterly after the beep, says, “Fuck you!” and hangs up.

He follows it up with a text, tries to write _fuckin’ talk to me, coward,_ but he’s too drunk to type properly. He hits send anyway, then stares down at his mangled, misspelled message, feeling steadily worse.

“M’sorry, Cas,” he finds himself slurring into his voicemail-box, not even sure when he’d picked up the phone again. “Course you’d want nothing to do with a _stupid_ fuckup like me. Only a matter of time ‘til you found out I’m too dumb for you. Can’t even keep my damn job. I get it. You can do better. ‘M not mad anymore, ‘kay? M’sorry I called you a coward. If you could even read that. _Fuck_. I’ll leave you alone, promise.”

He spends Saturday sleeping off his hangover, and by the time he’s pulling himself together on Sunday for dinner at his mom’s, he’s feeling less pathetic, and the anger is starting to creep back in. Maybe Cas _is_ miles too good, too smart, for him and maybe he wanted out once he realized what a failure Dean is, but he could’ve at least had the decency to tell him.

He says as much to his mom, while he chops the vegetables for that night’s meal with enough aggression that Mary warns him, “Dean, my counters!”

“Sorry, Mom.” He uses the knife to scrape the diced veggies into a skillet. “What’d you expect from your _stupid_ son.”

“You’re not stupid,” she insists, a familiar refrain.

He grunts. “Yeah, well? Tell that to Cas.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Mary lays a soft hand on his shoulder blade. “I’m sure he doesn’t think that.” She takes a deep breath and suggests, “Do you think that maybe Cas is avoiding you because he feels guilty?”

“Guilty,” he repeats flatly, laying the knife down. He grips the edge of the counter roughly.

Mary lets her hand fall from his shoulder, and turns to lean against the counter beside him, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He avoids her gaze. “Pamela and I have been talking a lot about guilt in our sessions. It’s really helping.”

His shoulders hunch. How is he supposed to argue with that? “What’s that got to do with Cas?” he mutters stubbornly anyway.

He can feel his mother’s level gaze on him. “He probably feels like he got you fired, don’t you think?”

Dean snorts. “How the hell is that his fault? Roman are the ones breaking the law.”

“Guilt’s not rational,” Mary says, obviously echoing the lessons her therapist has been teaching her. “Especially when someone you care about is hurting.” Her eyes are gentle, and it makes something twist up inside of him. For all he knows his mother loves him, it’s always been his job, comforting her. He’s not sure how to handle the role reversal.

He snorts. “Yeah, well, his disappearing act hurts a lot more than losing that damn job.” Saying it out loud startles him, but it’s true. Beneath the anger, he misses Cas fiercely. He braces his hands against the counter and lets his head slump.

Mary hugs him from the side, soft and comforting. “Cas will come around,” she soothes. “Just give it time.”

“Time, sure.” Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. He chuckles humourlessly. “I guess the therapy really is working for you, huh?”

Mary sighs, a heavy sound. “Dean…”

He shakes her off. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He’s not, really.

*********

Sam calls Monday evening, which isn’t their designated day. “Mom told me what happened,” he blurts, without waiting for Dean to say hello. “Do you want to sue Roman Enterprises? I’m sure my bosses would let me take it on.”

Given how busy Sam’s work keeps him, it’s an extremely generous offer. “Thanks, Sammy, but the union already has their lawyers on it, and this _is_ kind of their focus.” In fact, he’d spent a good chunk of the morning on the phone with one of them, prepping for Wednesday’s hearing.

“I really don’t mind,” Sam barrels on, but then seems to register what Dean said, and stops. “Or, yeah, that’s probably better, actually. They already know their labour law. Not really the same as copyright litigation, is it?”

Dean flops back onto his couch, which is becoming all too familiar with the shape of his body this past week. “Not really. But, uh, thanks. For offering. I know you haven’t been on board with this union stuff.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to see you throw yourself in the line of fire for everyone else and get hung out to dry,” Sam defends, then softens. “But then you did get targeted, and they’re standing behind you. So maybe there is something to it.”

“Yeah,” Dean tilts his head back against the arm of the sofa, “they tend to walk the walk.”

Sam clears his throat. “So, I guess I owe you an apology, huh?”

Dean snorts. “It’s fine, Sam.”

“No,” Sam persists, “really. I was wrong, Dean. I was a dick and I dumped all over your choices and acted like I know better than you. So, I’m sorry.”

Damnit. Why does his little brother have to be so earnest? “Thanks, Sammy.” He hopes they can leave it at that, but he knows his brother too well for that.

Sure enough. “Do you–” Sam pauses. “Do you want to talk about Cas?”

And there it is. Does he want to talk to his brother about the guy who’d ditched him without a word? The guy he was pretty sure he’d been falling for?

“Did Mom tell you about that, too?” He casts his gaze to the ceiling. “No, I don’t want to talk about Cas.” Even if his mom was right about Cas’s silence being motivated by guilt, he hardly wants to get all sharing and caring with his brother, especially when he hasn’t hashed it out with Cas himself.

“Are you sure? It can help to talk.” God save him from Sam’s eager puppy mode.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “And we’re done, Sam.”

“Sorry, sorry. I just want to help.”

“Prodding me isn’t helping.” Dean huffs out a frustrated breath. But his brother really is trying, and he knows it. Gentler, he offers, “If I think of some way you can help, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“If there’s anything I can do, just say the word. You’re my brother, and I love you.”

Dean rolls his eyes affectionately. “Yeah, same. Say hi to Madison for me.”

He hangs up the phone and loses an hour contemplating his ceiling and trying not to think about Cas. He doesn’t succeed.


	11. Chapter Ten

**December 2013**

If Roman Enterprises had expected to cow the workers at Roman Mills by firing Dean, their plan backfires. Instead, it galvanizes them. Dean is well-liked by those who know him, and even those who were skeptical of unions feel the injustice of his dismissal. Just over a week after it happens, the committee has gathered more than enough cards that they can apply to the labour board to set up a vote. They’re one step closer to victory, but Cas only feels sick to his stomach.

He hasn’t spoken to Dean since he heard the news, despite the unread texts and unanswered voicemails that clog his phone. Instead, he’s thrown himself into the other aspects of the campaign and had his support staff, Hannah, call Dean to take his questions and assure him that the union’s lawyers are on the case.

He knows it’s unprofessional not to handle it himself, and he misses Dean fiercely, but he just doesn’t know how to face him. Scrubbing a hand over his tired face – he’s been losing sleep – he promises himself, _Maybe once the lawyers are successful_. Then he can go apologize for this whole debacle. If Dean even wants to see him, anymore. He doubts that’s the case. After all, why should Dean forgive him when he can’t forgive himself?

That’s why, when he shows up at Donna’s house to brief the organizing committee on the next steps, he isn’t expecting to run into Dean. He freezes, unsure what to do.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greets him, voice indecipherable.

He struggles for words, and at last, finds his voice. “Dean. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Dean’s face tightens. “Of course I’m here. I’m still part of this, aren’t I? I still care about everyone, and about this campaign, and I’m going to see it through. I’m not going to drop it just because it’s become inconvenient.”

Cas can tell the judgement is directed at him and fights the urge to hang his head. He’s never considered Dean inconvenient – he’s spent this last week wanting nothing more than to have Dean close again. He’s the one who’s inconvenient to Dean. But somehow Dean hasn’t realized that.

He swallows hard. “You’re right. Maybe we could talk, after?” It’s not a conversation he’s in any way prepared for. “I need to give this update now, but we should–” What they should do, he’s not sure.

“Sure.” Dean saves him from himself, his face still inscrutable. “We’ll talk after.” He steps aside to let Cas past, into Donna’s living room, where the rest of the committee is already gathered.

Cas’s throat feels tight as he greets the group, and he knows he isn’t as enthusiastic as he should be when they’re so close to their goal. He hopes it’s not obvious how little he’s been sleeping or eating.

He keeps it business-like while he explains the process. “I will take the cards to Toronto tomorrow and file them with the Ontario Labour Relations Board. After that, they will set a date for the vote, which we can expect to be in about a week.

“We will need to be active during that time – making sure everyone is aware of the voting date and of our message. The company will try to double-down on their anti-union stance, and we must not let them intimidate people. I’ll have new leaflets to distribute and I’m sure we will need help with phonebanking, too, so please consider volunteering for that.

“Does anyone have any questions?”

Mildred puts up a hand. Perhaps unsurprisingly, her question has nothing to do with the certification process. “What’s happening with Dean?” she asks. “It’s not fair that they’ve targeted him.” There are murmurs of agreement from the others.

Cas swallows hard and glances over at Dean, who looks like he is trying to fade into the background, embarrassed by the concern. Nonetheless, he gives Cas the faintest nod to go ahead.

“Right.” Cas shifts on his feet. “First, I want to make it clear that what Roman has done, firing someone for their involvement with a union, is _not_ legal. We are working to get Dean reinstated, with compensation for the lost wages. Our lawyers have filed a complaint of Unfair Labour Practice with the labour board, and I believe they have already held a hearing.” He looks to Dean for confirmation.

“Yeah, that was yesterday,” Dean confirms in a hoarse voice.

“So, that means we are just waiting for the board to come to a decision,” he explains. “Because this is an active campaign, we can expect a verdict soon.” When no one adds anything, he asks, “Are there questions about anything else?”

After that, it doesn’t take long to wrap up the meeting. There are a few questions about the voting process, but nothing Cas can’t answer with most of his mind on the upcoming confrontation with Dean. Finally, he’s able to take his leave.

If part of him was hoping to slip away before having to face Dean again, he loses his chance when Dean corners him in the driveway.

“You’re driving me home,” Dean informs him, eyes hard, “so that you don’t take off. And then we’re gonna talk.”

Cas can’t bring himself to meet Dean’s eyes. “What about your car?” he asks.

Dean’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, unimpressed with Cas’s attempt to deflect. “I walked.”

Cas swallows. “Right. Let’s, uh–” He waves vaguely towards his truck.

The short drive passes in stiff silence, but he knows better than to hope for a reprieve. He steels himself as Dean unlocks the front door, and the second they’re inside, he blurts, “First of all, let me say how sorry I am. I feel terrible about your job.”

Dean stares at him as if he is speaking gibberish.

“You think I’m upset with you about my job?” he demands. “Dude, I gave you the news, and you dropped off the face of the earth.”

Cas bites his lip. “I made sure to have Hannah keep you updated–”

Dean makes a growling noise in frustration. “And Hannah’s been great, sure. But I wanted you, Cas. Not as my union rep. As my friend. As my – whatever we were.”

Cas turns away, pained. “Dean, I’m sorry. I couldn’t face you. I got you fired. I didn’t know how to make it up to you. I don’t know why you’d want anything to do with me, after that.”

Seeing his misery, Dean seems to relent. He places a hand on Cas’s slumped shoulder, the weight grounding him and making him feel like he’s sinking into the earth at the same time.

“Let me ask you something. You normally beat yourself up like this when something goes wrong, someone gets fired? You normally ghost them?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

“So what makes this different?” Dean prods. “Hannah told me the lawyers are working on it. It’s not a lost cause. So what’s up with you?”

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

“You know I have feelings for you,” he says helplessly.

“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s voice is rough. Every part of Cas aches to be closer to Dean, but he still can’t bring himself to turn his head. “Hey, look at me.” Dean spins him, so they’re face to face, his expression serious. “I’ve got feelings for you, too. Why else would I be so mad?”

“I– Dean–” At Dean’s confession, Cas can’t help himself. He steps in and slots their mouths together, a wave of relief washing over him when he once again feels the heat from Dean’s body, the gentleness of his mouth. It’s everything he’s wanted for the weeks they’ve been parted.

_He can’t have it._

He pushes Dean away gently with a flat palm.

“This isn’t a good idea.” His voice is ragged.

“Why the hell not?” Dean demands.

Cas closes his eyes, so he doesn’t have to see the hurt and confusion on Dean’s face. “It’s unprofessional of me, Dean. It’s already compromised my judgement. I avoided you for two weeks and pawned you off on Hannah because I couldn’t handle my feelings.”

Dean sighs heavily through his nose. “Cas, caring is a good thing.”

“I know, I know. I just–” He breaks off and takes a deep breath. “Maybe we could back off, just until we win the vote? Once you’re certified, you’ll be assigned a servicing rep to help with bargaining, and then we can–” It’s a foolish suggestion.

“Yeah, okay.” Cas’s eyes snap to Dean’s in surprise at how quickly he agrees. After the way Cas has treated him–

Dean touches a hand to Cas’s cheek. “Cas, if you’re serious about this, I’m willing to wait if that’s what you want.”

It’s not what he wants, but it’s the sensible thing to do.

What Cas wants is to lean into the warmth of Dean’s strong, steady hand. Instead, he forces himself to take a few steps back and runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Thank you for understanding.” He offers Dean a smile, but it’s small and shaky, and his eyes burn a little. “I should get going. I need to get an early start in the morning. But I’ll be in touch?” His hand falls on the doorknob.

Dean’s smile is lopsided and sad. “Sure thing. See ya, Cas. Drive safe.”

*********

Cas goes home that night feeling melancholy, despite Dean’s apparent forgiveness. He has to get up early tomorrow to deliver the cards to the labour board, but he forces himself to read through Dean’s texts, until they drop off after an angry one, clearly written while drunk. He steels himself and opens his voicemail.

Somewhere between the messages going from confused to irritated to angry, he notices that he’s digging his fingernails into his palms, hard enough to leave angry red crescents.

When he gets to a message that simply says, “Fuck you,” his thumb hovers over the button to delete it, but in the end, he hits save like he has for all the rest.

The next message makes him want to cry. Dean is drunk and apologetic and keeps going on about being stupid. Cas has to tilt his head back and blink rapidly to fend off the tears that try to well up. If anyone has been stupid, it’s him. Stupid and thoughtless and cruel.

It’s the last message. He hits save automatically and sets his alarm, curling up beneath his covers and trying in vain to sleep. It’s a long drive to Toronto tomorrow, and all he wants to do is go see Dean.

The need for Dean aches in his chest as he drives to the office in the morning to collect the legal paperwork needed to file for certification, and for the entirety of his five-hour drive to Toronto. He barely notices the transport trucks speeding by him or the dangerously slick winter conditions of the roads, even when he hits the congestion of city traffic.

When he arrives at the board, the actual process of filing the application provides something of a distraction, but afterwards, the pull is too strong. Rather than checking in to a hotel for the night, like he should do, Cas braves rush hour traffic in order to get right back on the road.


	12. Chapter Eleven

After agreeing to hold off on dealing with their relationship until the vote is complete, the last thing Dean expects when he answers a knock late Friday night is to see Cas on his doorstep.

He clears his throat and steps aside to let him in, wrapping his fuzzy robe tighter around himself against the chill from outside. “Hey.”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is rough. Dean shuts the door behind him, and he stands there fiddling with the ends of his scarf, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he lifts his eyes to Dean’s and rasps out, “I listened to your messages. All of them. I wanted to come right away, but the cards, and then the traffic–”

“Cas, what?” Dean manages, but then Cas is fitting his mouth against his and kissing him deep and desperate.

He pulls away just as quickly, before Dean can get his bearings, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, distancing himself from Dean’s lips. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I never thought you were stupid. I never wanted you to think you were anything but wonderful, and I…” His voice shakes, and he trails off.

Bemused, Dean shushes him. “Hey, c’mere.” He draws Cas in by his hips and enfolds him in his arms. He already got all his recriminations out when he confronted Cas after the meeting, and it feels good to hold him again. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I shouldn’t have disappeared like that. I shouldn’t have let you think all those things about yourself.” He sounds utterly miserable.

Dean huffs a breath against the top of Cas’s head. “I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself when I said those things. I don’t think them, really. I mean, I used to, not gonna lie, but I’m good, usually.” It’s not entirely true, and Cas must know that, but it seems to make him feel better. Dean can work on it.

“You’re too good for me,” Cas mumbles.

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up. “Don’t you start with that. But, uh, what happened to waiting?”

“I…” Cas gropes for an explanation that makes sense of his jumbled feelings. “I heard your messages, and it hurt. It hurt that I had hurt you that way. And then all I could think about was how pointless it was to stay away from you, as if I wouldn’t feel the same way about you whether we were together or not.”

“Your judgement is compromised one way or the other, huh?”

Cas grumbles, “Dean,” but Dean kisses the complaints out of his mouth. When they finally separate, Cas droops against him.

“Wait,” Dean says. “Did you drive all the way to Toronto and back today?”

“I didn’t want to wait to see you.”

His eyes widen. “Jesus, Cas. Have you eaten at least?”

“I went through a drive-thru on my way.”

“Let me guess: that was hours ago.” Dean shakes his head and begins stripping off Cas’s winter things. “Alright. You’re going to sit down in the kitchen, and I’m going to get you a snack, and then we’re gonna get some sleep. No arguing. We can talk about this more in the morning.”

Pliant, Cas lets Dean steer him into a kitchen chair and eats the food Dean puts in front of him. Partway through, he blinks up at Dean. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

Dean rests a rueful hand on Cas’s knee. “It’s what I do.” He gives that knee a shake. “C’mon, finish that up and come to bed. I think we both need it.”

Dutifully, Cas finishes the snack and lets Dean clear the dishes and lend him a pair of pyjamas, lets Dean take care of him. When they climb into bed, Cas surprises him, immediately taking the position of big spoon, pulling Dean up against him and wrapping an arm securely around his waist. It’s nice, Dean thinks, safe, like Cas is going to take care of Dean right back.

“You okay back there?” he asks, because he can’t not, and he feels Cas nod against the back of his neck.

“I’m better now,” Cas mumbles.

“Good.” Dean buries his face in the pillow. “Rest.”

*********

They wake in the morning in a tangle of limbs. Cas blinks blearily at Dean, who rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. He’s got a soft smile on his face, and such a profound wave of relief floods Cas’s system that he nearly drowns in it. He hasn’t fucked this up entirely.

“Hey,” Dean says, and, “Hello, Dean,” he answers, a tentative smile playing on his own lips. Dean reaches out to run his free hand through Cas’s impossible bedhead, and he can feel his smile growing ever wider.

“We’re going to talk about things,” Dean warns him.

“Of course.”

“And you don’t get to drop off the face of the earth again.”

“Agreed.”

“And then we’re going to have make-up sex. And it’s gonna be so good you’re never gonna want to disappear again.”

Cas can’t help it. He laughs. “I promise never to do that again. With or without the sex.”

“With,” Dean says. “Definitely with.”

Dean brings them coffee in bed, and they do talk, for quite a long time. The make-up sex that follows is eminently satisfying, and they lie facing each other in the afterglow, faces serious but soft, hands linked between their chests.

Dean’s eyes rove over his face as if tracing the curve of his cheekbone. “You know I’m falling in love with you, right?” he asks, quiet and rough, and Cas can only blink back tears of wonder.

“Me too, Dean,” he whispers. “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

*********

Cas doesn’t go home that weekend. He doesn’t want to leave Dean’s house at all, though he does accompany Dean to the grocery store when they discover the cupboards are bare. He’s inordinately proud to be seen holding Dean’s hand, and from the looks Dean gives him, he feels the same way.

With the vote set for the end of the week, they loop in everyone who signed up for phone-banking and spend Saturday afternoon doing that. They know that the employer will be making a last-minute anti-union push, and given that Roman’s intimidation tactics have included illegally firing Dean, they take the time to make sure everyone they speak to knows that their vote _will_ be secret and the employer will have no way of punishing those who vote _yes_ – and if Roman tries, the CNMU will have their backs.

Sunday, Cas spends an hour on the phone with Charlie, making adjustments to the final phase of their social media campaign, making sure they reach as many workers as possible with information on where and how to vote. Dean tucks his feet into Cas’s lap where he sits on the couch, and he switches his phone on to speaker so Dean can make his own suggestions.

Cas stays over Sunday night as well, ostensibly so they can get to work on more campaigning first thing in the morning, but really because Cas is loathe to be separated from Dean so soon after reconciling. They’re both woken by the sound of Cas’s ringtone, and he gropes around on the bedside table to find it.

“Hello?” he answers groggily but becomes instantly alert at the sound of his secretary’s voice.

“Good morning, Castiel,” Hannah greets him. “I know you’ll be checking your email, but I thought you would want to know immediately that the ruling has come down from the board in our favour. Dean is to be reinstated as of tomorrow, and Roman’s been ordered to give him back pay for the time he’s lost.”

“Hannah, that’s wonderful news.” He pulls himself to sitting, running his hand through Dean’s hair, where he stretches against him with sleepy pleasure. “Were you planning on calling Dean as well?”

“I don’t really think I need to,” Hannah says knowingly. “Do I?”

Cas blushes, glad she can’t see him over the phone. “No, I can tell him myself. Email me the details. Thank you, Hannah.”

Dean grabs the phone out of his hand. “Thank you, Hannah,” he echoes into it, voice still sleep-rough, before hanging up and rolling fully on top of Cas. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you? Especially if I have to be back at work tomorrow.”

The sun is high in the sky before they leave the bed.

*********

“Does it always take this long?” Linda asks, voice tense. It’s late Friday afternoon, and across the room, the officials sent from the board to monitor the vote are carefully, slowly, sorting ballots into two piles.

Mildred pats her hand. “Let’s just let them be thorough. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. But take a look at those vultures,” she nods towards a cluster of suit-clad higher-ups from Roman Enterprises. “Now, they look nervous.”

“There’s power in the union,” Cesar intones solemnly, quoting one of the leaflets they had distributed. Jesse wraps an arm around his strong shoulders.

“And whatever happens,” Donna adds, “I want all us folks to be proud of ourselves. Look at what we’ve accomplished.”

Rufus harrumphs, but even he’s smiling.

“Thank you all,” Dean says. “I’m glad you let me drag you into this.” He couldn’t imagine finding success in standing up to Roman without everyone here, and without Bobby and Charlie, who aren’t present for the vote.

“Hey,” says Benny, clasping him on the shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. “It’s all of our fight, brother.”

At the end of the room, the officials wave over Cas and a representative from Roman. Immediately, the group goes silent and still, eyes on the exchange that they can’t quite hear.

And then Cas is striding across the room, a gummy smile cracking his face and crinkling his eyes. He’s never looked more beautiful to Dean.

“Congratulations,” Cas says as soon as he’s within earshot. “Welcome to Canadian Northern Miners United.”

*********

After the initial hugs and cheers and joy, the celebration moves to the Roadhouse. It’s a good thing it’s a Friday, because Donna starts them off toasting to their own success, and the others take over from there, until everyone’s had several rounds.

Cas must have told Charlie the news, because at some point in the evening Dean looks up between drinks, and she’s there, flirting outrageously with Jo, who gives as good as she gets. Mary shows up with Bobby, and though she can’t drink with her new antidepressants, she allows herself to be talked on stage for the first shot at karaoke, and absolutely kills it belting out Pat Benatar.

No one can top Mary’s performance, except maybe Mildred who covers Patsy Cline, but they all make enthusiastic attempts, and Dean gets a whole routine going to Eye of the Tiger when it’s his turn. The general lack of skill doesn't deter any of them, and it’s with high spirits that they finally part ways when Ellen Harvelle is ready to close.

Pleasantly drunk, Dean leans heavily on Cas as they stagger into the parking lot. “Fuckin’ miracle worker,” he mumbles into his neck.

“You’re the miracle,” Cas replies. He is quite possibly drunk as well.

Mary comes up beside them, easily plucking Dean’s keys from his fingers, with only an amused expression to betray that she has overheard their sappy words.

“Let me drive you boys home. You’ve earned it.”


	13. Epilogue

**April 2014**

> ###  **Bargaining Highlights**
> 
> **Local 1967**  
>  **First Contract Secures Health & Safety, Pensions**
> 
> After a months-long battle, newly formed Local 1967 at Roman Mills in Lawrence, Ont., have signed their first contract. The new agreement provides robust health and safety language, including the creation of a Joint Health and Safety Committee authorized with implementing changes. Improvements have also been made to the pension plan, reversing recent cuts. The three-year contract includes wage increases of 1.5% per year and a parental leave top-up.

* * *

 

*********

**November 2018**

“In the interest of full disclosure,” Dean says to the three people assembled around him in the CNMU boardroom, “I am in a relationship with Castiel Novak.”

“Which is why Castiel is not part of this hiring committee,” Mark Cain, the head of the Canadian Northern Miners United Health and Safety department, answers, not unkindly. Dean has worked with him on several projects since the workers of Roman Mills joined the union, and he has a great deal of respect for the older man. “You’re here because of the work you’ve put into the union – your work on your bargaining committee, your leadership of your local union, and especially your health and safety activism.”

“As you are no doubt aware, when possible, we like to hire from among our rank and file members,” adds Billie Grey, the union’s assistant director. “When this position opened up, yours was one of the names we were hoping to see on the list of candidates.”

The third person in the room is Hannah, who has moved up from her position as the Organizing department secretary to the office’s lead administrator, doing everything from organizing conferences to handling HR. She smiles at him and taps a pen against her clipboard. “So, Dean, why don’t we start with what you think you can bring to our Health and Safety department.”

Dean talks.

*********

Dean’s used one of his vacation days to attend the interview in Sudbury and makes it home a few hours earlier than he normally would, grateful for an afternoon off.

Cas has been leading an organizing drive at a hotel an hour or so south, in between taking calls from a colleague who is working on organizing the paralegals at Madison’s law firm (they have a rampant sexual harassment problem that the CNMU wants to fix). Busy as he is, Dean’s not expecting him home for awhile.

In the meantime, he shovels their long driveway – they are definitely getting a snowblower, Dean decides, as he does every winter – and then putters around the house. _Their house_. If he’d ever had concerns about selling his place to move in here with Cas, they’d long since been eased. Every inch of the house feels like Cas, and Cas, well, he feels like home.

Dean’s in the kitchen, preparing dinner when he sees Cas’s truck pull in behind the Impala. He pops the meal in the oven and washes his hands in time to greet Cas, but doesn’t manage to shed the novelty Han Solo apron that Charlie had gifted him. Cas smirks from the kitchen doorway when he sees it, and crosses the room to meet him in a familiar kiss.

“Mmm. How was the interview?” Cas asks.

“Oh, you know.” Dean ducks his head. “It was okay, but I don’t know what they’d want with a dummy like me.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas scolds, looking so genuinely distraught that Dean can’t keep up the act.

“Naw.” He breaks into a grin. “It went great. Say hello to your newest co-worker.”

Cas’s _hello_ is very enthusiastic indeed. When they break apart, flushed and panting, Dean winks at him.

“So, Cas,” he wiggles his eyebrows at him, “whaddaya say we take this to the bedroom and have ourselves a little _union_?”


End file.
